The local kids are nearly all back in school, and this afternoon, after pre-schoool open house, there was the distinct feel of autumn. Just a slight hint of it, mind you, but there it was – hitting me all at once and, yet, as slight as a whisper. Autumn – the time of sweaters and apple picking (and, subsequently, apple everything in the canner and oven), warm woollens being brought out for wear, the heavy blankets/quilts making their return…
We’re still much too far away for proper fall. Leaves won’t even begin changing until late September/early October, and by the time my annual knitting weekend comes in November everything will be drying up as winter creeps in. That brief moment, though, made me realize how much I’ve missed the woods. We haven’t gone camping since before we had the kid (over 3 years now). The woods, and nature, are like a spiritual need to me – just sitting in a quiet place and listening to it breathe fills me up in the way I imagine religion feels to those who believe in a god. I can’t really explain it better than that, if it even makes sense. I used to get my fill when we’d go camping. I could just sit and sit and sit and listen and knit and just… be.
Now, my fixes come in smaller bouts – mostly at my yearly knitting weekend. But I feel a bit self-conscious stepping away from the group to go sit alone and close my eyes and listen. I love my friends, but I’m pretty sure they might think I’ve gone off the deep end if I tried to explain it.
So, today, with Autumn ever-so-slowly creeping closer, I’m missing the woods. And living vicariously through everyone else I see who is brave enough to camp with little ones.
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