Month Half Done

Yesterday was as fine as a day could be, and today was its equal. Saturday a shining, sunny snapshot of purest gold, with wind and leaves, the symbols of death and change in the living air. Sunday a cloudy, rainy room of adoration and reflection. We are aware of how rare such days are, and this awareness made them all the more precious to us as we passed through our weekend, holding hands, joking, laughing, choking up in emotional pauses, quiet conversations, silent hours of reading next to each other with snoring dogs all around us, barbecuing chicken, baking pecan pies, rehashing last night’s dreams, taking our naps, cleaning out the chimney and the gutters, mending fences, more reading and crossword puzzles, and long stretches of deep and contented silence.

On the way to a town north of us to do some shopping yesterday, two large does ran out in front of us across the state highway. They sprawled and splayed and skittered as they hit the asphalt, but then righted themselves and bounded across four lanes and a broad median, reaching safety while we watched them, stopped dead in the road in our car, whispering prayers for their safety, and ours.

Home later, in the driveway, I spotted a lovely white and black moth with fuzzy antennae, perched on a leaf and trembling in the wind. I haven’t yet tracked down what kind of moth she was, but I am still looking. She was the cause of a sharp inhalation, a long kneel beside her, a quiet conversation, a memory warm in my mind even now on a Sunday night.

The wooly worms were out in force over the weekend. I have abandoned all hope of getting a definitive answer from the old timer locals about the weather forecasting via the fuzzy little things. Some say that black wooly worms mean a bad winter. Others say that banded or striped one mean the same. Some say an all-orange one portends rough weather. I don’t know. It’s like trying to get clear, safe directions on cooking poke salet. One takes risks that one is willing to take, I suppose. I do know that I enjoy watching their humpbacked hurrying around over the leaves and between the fallen branches, always on a mission, never loitering.

This evening, I saw what was probably the last morning glory of the season, since we will have freezing temperatures and a very cold week starting tomorrow night. This little one was snuggled down beneath a board at the base of the goat shed. And still she shines.

Last evening, Mrs. Orr mentioned a song that one of her friends recommended, a lovely tune by a choral group called The Wailin’ Jennys. Here is is:

And while listening to some of the Jennys’ other music, I sampled one of the songs, another acapella number, and realized that it was a slow version of the pretty song I heard back in the summer and was trying to learn more about. Turns out that I had the title and lyrics wrong, and also turns out that Dolly Parton wrote the song back in the Seventies. I didn’t care for Miz Parton’s version — I enjoy her harmonizing with other singers more than I enjoy her own songs — nor did I particularly like the Wailin’ Jennys’ version. I finally tracked down the version I first heard months ago on a Kentucky bluegrass station. It’s not a perfect recording…the singer hits some slightly off notes, and the sound is a bit thin. But it’s the one I heard and fell in love with, so I’ll dance with the one what brung me.  Here tis:

And finally, to augment the physical and spiritual beauty of the October world out there this night, is a gorgeous track by a Canadian violinist, Angele Dubeau. I hope all of you enjoy the music, and I hope you all rest well under your own quilts and your own night skies, wherever you are.

~ S.K. Orr