Now that the leaves are almost all down, lights from homes, homesteads and farms are becoming more and more visible through the trees after dark. Since I harbor no illusion that I’m alone in this world, they don’t spoil my sense of isolation.
I know where I am. At least a half-mile of rugged woodland separates me from the closest of those lights. Besides, there aren’t that many.
Wednesday night, though, I saw something I didn’t expect. I was standing on the stoop, a perspective you’ve seen here before. Rewinding several hours, here’s what it looked like in daylight:
After darkness fell, this became my view:
Just to the left of the center of that image is a fuzzy speck of light, the best that my phone’s camera and I could do. I believe it comes from a cabin up on Goard Point, which is two miles away and 300 feet higher in elevation.
There’s another, by the way, a second light about a quarter-mile west of this one. I couldn’t get both in the same shot.
Now here’s the thing — those aren’t security lights. They’re not porch lights.
They’re Christmas lights.
Two humble homes, situated on high ground at the end of a dirt road, strung simple strands of multi-colored lights. And they face north, where only other Country folk can see them.
I have a long-standing personal policy that there’s to be no Christmasing whatsoever until the Thanksgiving dinner dishes have been washed, dried and put away. I chafe against “rushing the season.”
Discovering these early Christmas lights on a neighboring mountaintop Wednesday night, however, made me smile. I think it’s pretty cool.
Thick fog rolled up from the valley and over The Mountain ahead of incoming rain Thursday morning. It wasn’t intolerably cold, outdoors or in, but when the rain started around 8am, a certain penetrating dampness took over.
I lit a fire in the woodstove. That seemed like the right thing to do.
I appreciated the coziness, and so did Smudge.
I waited for the sound of rain on the cabin roof to let up, mid-afternoon, and we went for a walk. (Now as I say that, I realize that 3:15pm no longer is “mid-afternoon” — yesterday, for the first time since last December, the sun set before 5pm.) Our world was dark and sodden, richer and deeper and more beautiful in ways I can’t describe.
Rain always does this to The Mountain. And I always tell you.
Miss Smudge and I meandered in a southerly direction. We explored the terrain around a couple of small sinkholes, both at least a century old. She lapped water from pockets in the rocks.
We lost track of time and got caught in a downpour.
We dashed back to the cabin and I shut the door behind us. I looked down at my Heeler — waving her tail, smiling the biggest smile. I unclipped her leash and she immediately jumped on me, muddy paws and all.
I knelt down and gave her a long hug, which she returned. Knowing that I’m giving her the life that she deserves makes me just as happy as she is.
It was, for both of us, a lazy day. A perfect day.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable