Yesterday, our local headlines blared "Freeze Warning." The end of warm weather comes early in Northern Vermont. And as the shadows lengthened and daylight faded, the air took on a definite chill. While the wood stove blazed, warming the chilly corners of the house, I headed to my storage trunk and unpacked my fleece sheets and winter down comforter. And when bedtime came, I opened my window and climbed into my cozy bed only to find my whippets already snuggled under the quilts; my very own little bed warmers.
The room was bathed in moonlight from an almost full moon and as I gazed out on the forest around me and listened to the coyotes sing their lonely night time song, the lyrics to "Golden Slumbers" by the Beatles fill my head, "Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home. Sleep pretty darling do not cry and I will sing a lullaby." I fall asleep and don't waken again.
Dawn and the world is a frozen, crystal paradise - so beautiful in it's icy simplicity. I let the horses out of the barn and watch them frolic energized by the clear air - no bugs to bother them, no fly spray necessary. Yes, for the first time since last spring, there is ice on the water bucket. Winter won't be far behind.
But not yet. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining and it's just the day for a hike in the woods. I decide to take my beloved jennet, Bella, as my companion. Now I love hiking with the horses but they have a decidedly different energy. Always curious, anxious to trot, to jump obstacles and always wondering when we are headed back to the barn, my horses are a delight but hiking with a donkey is like hiking with your best friend; no need to hurry, time for relaxation and observation along the way and plenty of time to meander and enjoy each other's company. Yes, Bella would be my companion.
I've been so sad lately, so ill at ease in my own skin but as I head into the woods with the beginnings of fall encircling me, I can feel my sadness drop away. There, the leaves are turning.
Here, there are branches newly fallen from a storm the other night.
We stop at an apple tree and we each have a snack. I listen to Bella crunching her apple. She licks her lips with her big donkey tongue savoring the tangy juice. She's content and so am I.
I stop to take pictures. Bella snacks on grasses. It's a companionable silence we enjoy.
Time to head home. We would both like to linger but there are chores waiting.
I marvel at the smallest of things - a forgotten bird's nest in a tree, the way the pasture hill rises to meet the sky, leaves starting to turn crimson.
I let Bella back out in the pasture and right away she starts calling for her friends, loud brays, and they come running. She's embraced again by her herd.
Fall, in Vermont, a special time, when for a brief moment everything feels possible again.
