A gray day, mild morning giving way to raw afternoon as temperatures fall and rain comes down. A gray week, mostly, the air -- until this afternoon -- feeling strangely temperate. It occurred to me yesterday that this is the first time in the 7+ years I've had this house that the season's first snow hasn't fallen by this point in the tenth month. A few days back, maybe Monday, the sun came out for a while and one lonely monarch butterfly fluttered by, heading south. None have passed through since then. Could be their season's wrapped it up for this year.
Most autumn color is long gone around here, we're well into the part of the calendar Vermonters call stick season. The countryside opens up as foliage thins out, terrain hidden by greenery during the brief warm months becomes visible again, hillside land carpeted with dead brown leaves, bare trees casting slanting shadows when sunlight pokes through cloud cover.
I remain stunned at the way the days fly past. I leave for Madrid in less than two weeks, have spent the week wading through the pile of pre-departure tasks needing to be done. At times I can hear the sofa calling my name, can feel my body wanting to drift in that direction, sink into the cushions and pass happy hours reading or watching vacuous nonsense on the idiot box instead of slogging through work, work, work.
Yesterday I wrote a friend in Madrid to warn him that I'd be back in his part of the world soon. During the ten months since I had to flee my squat in the Spanish capital (due to rampant building rehab literally ripping the building apart, all the way down to the rafters, forcing out one resident after another), Jorge's never responded to email. When I checked my account today, I found a note from him waiting. Saying that he was leaving Madrid for a while, heading to Toulouse, France to study French, maybe find work. Leaving the day before I arrive.
Poop.
Was good to hear from him, though. The note included an invite to come bother him in Toulouse. I might do that -- that would teach him to toss around invitations too freely.
Anyway. From last weekend, two days spent running around New England:
Me, hitting the road far too early Saturday morning, temperature well down into the 20's, mist clinging to hillsides, dissipating as the sun eased up into the sky.
Flying down Rt. 89, driving faster than a saner me would go, the autumn colors -- long past peak around here -- reviving as the road took me south, mountainsides and expanses of rolling land aglow with foliage putting on a show.
Stopping at the home of friends in New Hampshire for a fast breakfast. Sitting with them at the dining room table, hoovering down a fine toasted poppyseed bagel slathered with cream cheese. Dining room warm with sunlight, the family dog (Lacey) under the table, head across one of my thighs, waiting patiently for strokes.
Lacey, in her native habitat
photo originally posted in entry of 2/4/06
Traffic growing heavier and wackier as I followed the highway south to Boston, interstate giving way to familiar local streets, the reimmersion in a place that was, for a long time, home feeling surprisingly comfortable.
Meeting up with friends, watching from the back seat of their car as more familiar streets and neighborhoods passed by, happy to have someone else do the driving.
Claiming a parking space in Boston's South End by standing in it with one of said friends until friend #2 could pilot car through U-turn and road construction to actually park in it. More than one passing driver eyed the space with interest but moved on, accepting that we'd bagged it.
Walking Boston streets through a classic October afternoon. Spending a couple of hours in a theater matinee. Tagging along as friends went grocery shopping. Meeting up with friends I hadn't seen in four or so years, them now ensconced in a recently-purchased home, their first ever. A dinner of pretty tasty Indian chow, five of us demolishing six entrees, the restaurant staff closing the place around us, locking the door behind us as we left. (Something we said?)
Up early, out for a cup of high-test with one of the friends who'd provided me a bed for the night, on the road shortly after 9 a.m., heading north to Kittery, Maine for a bout of outlet shopping, a kind of activity not indulged in for quite some time. Years.
New shirts. New shoes. New socks. New book shelves. Blah blah blah.
A drive home through New Hampshire, foliage peaking, trees practically luminescent with autumn colors.
Back home before nightfall, northern Vermont looking reserved, austere after the display in New Hampshire -- the house quiet, the scene outdoors the same, a huge contrast with the sound, motion, energy of the previous day, not to mention the scene in Kittery, where outlet malls were swamped with crowds of people and vehicles by mid-morning.
Coming soon to my little life: sound, motion, energy on a whole different scale.
España, te echo de menos.
rws 5:10 PM [+]
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