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Wednesday, August 19, 2015

October 24, 2014

Nor’easter—apparently a three-dayer, at least in this neck-of-the-woods, and yes, as many have commented, thankfully it’s in the wet form as opposed to the white.
The last leaf-hangeroners are hanging-on no longer; they are now part of the gold-orange carpet obliterating our driveway, the lawn and most of the our neighbors properties as well. And right in time for the season, the woods is positively spooktacular! Bare branches claw at the sodden sky, their trunks swaying ominously in the whining-wind, black and skeletal.
We’ve enjoyed a most colorful autumn. Mounds of brilliant reds, fiery oranges and sunny yellows decorated the hills and townships. Carpets of gold stretched along lazy sun-dappled roadways, azure-blue skies and cool crisp breezes kissed our faces and tousled our hair through open-car-windows—enough to induce tummy-tickling awe in each of us!
This morning though, the mounds are gone. The dying was a truly a Monet, but the view of the woods this morning is right out of an Alfred Hitchcock.
It’s wonderful closet cleaning weather! Yesterday, I climbed up on the step-stool and cleaned the tops of my kitchen cabinets. Oh my! The things I found! Still, there’s satisfaction in a job well-done, and something settling about getting the nest cleaned and orderly before the winter cold is upon us.
MouseHouse and their Village neighbors inspire this thought as well—both prepared and accepting, they ease into the coming season with joyfulness and confidence.
Every inch of Fivelina’s pantry is well-stocked and sparkling clean. The children’s closets are well-supplied with winter-woolies and carefully sewn apparel. Bunks are made up with freshened and fluffed quilts and pillows. Warm throws and tiny hand-knit slippers sit by sofa and chairs. Handwork sits piled in a grass-woven basket near her rocker, filled with winter projects for long winter evenings—or, well, Alfred Hitchcock spells such as this 3-day Nor’easter has been.
Sir Fivel, as well, keeps small items to be carved or whittled in another basket by his evening chair. All the bureau pulls and the turned-spool backs of chairs are painstakingly worked during inclement days when getting to the shop is out-of-the-question. No hour is wasted, even as the children chatter about their homework, or ask pertinent questions around the fire, hands are never idle—Mama knits or sews, Papa whittles or carves. Yes, industriousness is surely an antidote to seclusion, and these little creatures do inspire.
Let’s see! Maybe the coat closet today?

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