Max and I visit a dogwood everyday on his walks. The leaves are scarlet now, and the berries gone, picked by busy birds. It's friend, the maple tree, still discards the prettiest leaves. Max and I always bring some home, to look at, until they curl.
It is truly Fall now, with it's varieties of sun and cold, hot and windy. I run the heat and the air conditioning sometimes on the same day: typical Southerner. I cook pinto beans today, with red beans, to make chili. With hamburger and some fried cornbread, it will be perfect. I am a stereotype...
I haven't been a faithful writer lately. I thought that I needed the inspiration of lots of Nature to write what I want to write about. I do need it. I just needed to look harder to see it. I do miss the broad fields of the Old House in Botetourt. I miss the forest, and the turkey and deer migrations across the land. I miss the freedom for my cats, and my dog.
I don't miss the long drive into the City. And, as I delight in people watching, there are other bonuses to living in Town.
Momma Ruby and Baby Minkins are settled into their home for the winter: a lovely barn with lots of sawdust and sunshine and love, too. I visit them every week, to let them know I still love them...I think my fostering days are over. I love too much to let them go.
But don't let that stop you...
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