Though feeling greatly improved by day two, it takes the body longer to fully heal after an intestinal bout. Walking one day was work without pleasure. Just do it because joints need oiling, and other systems like fresh oxygenated blood.
But yesterday, the sky azure like a robin’s egg, sun warming my shoulders, walking brought so much pleasure laps were doubled from 5 to ten, each one savored. Some days are like that, you just have to be out in them.
The yellow meadow has dried to softer hues, less interesting. But more hickory nuts crunch under my shoes as squirrels are busy eating and storing. It brings a chuckle in the winter to see them dive into snow looking for their treasures.
The quiet mornings with the loss of migrating songbirds brings a loneliness for what’s passed. My friend who died several years ago is missed more sharply, and my mother which was ten years ago.
Wistful for what was, enough time has passed that neither loss is still fresh with pain. Just a slight ache to once again interact with the rare few whose presence brought comfort and joy.
The beauty of fall seems to come with that longing, of things dying wishing they wouldn’t, wanting to hold on, learning to let go, and accepting what is.