We were going to the cabin, but it's supposed to rain all weekend, and I'd rather be here, where there are ways to get out and be inside, that up there fighting for a spot on the sofa by the fire with two large dogs and my husband. We're going to an art museum, and can get some errands done and watch the playoffs. As I get older, I want to be in the warmer spot, not the colder one, and the mountains will be colder and even perhaps the rain will turn to snow. I'm not your Christmas in Connecticut kind of gal. Not anymore. I'm your desert or tropical island kind of person. I like heat. I even like more humidity than we get where we live. But this is easily simulated by standing in a hot shower.
Next week I'm taking an overnight trip with a friend, and I'm looking forward to that. It won't be warm there either, but beautiful, and we'll get a chance to catch up and bond again. Our birthdays are about a month apart, and we'll no doubt be discussing this turning 65 thing. It's a mystery, but a shared mystery is always better than going it alone.
So it's fall, the rain is coming, the days are shorter, and next week we will have dark by five or so. But time is whirling by so quickly that before I know it, the holidays will have spun by and the days will be lengthening again. I've no longer any sense of dwelling in seasons - the time is almost universal at this point - all events and weathers co-mingled in one big soup of experience. I'd like to slow it down and appreciate it more, but my later life seems to be accelerating.
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