It would have been cooler if Buck and I had started our walk earlier. Even so, at 9:00 a.m. the difference between the hot sun in the clearing and the near chill of the deep shade down by the draw was striking. Rainfall for August broke all records. The last week of August hinted at fall, but this morning summer was back in all its steamy glory. We walked our regular five laps from house to gate and back, clicking off three and a third miles in just under an hour — fast enough for a slight uptick in heart rate, slow enough to chat.
We returned to the house sweaty, ready for a shower. It had gotten late on us, though, and we opted to have breakfast first. I whipped up a strawberry banana smoothy in the old blender with vanilla soy milk and a handful of flax seeds. You would have sworn it was made with ice cream. Too eager, I gave myself a brain freeze.
By the time we finished breakfast, our bodies had cooled enough to consider going outside again even though it was nearly mid-day. Buck took to his old Case 60 horsepower tractor to bush-hog the major fire lines, and I took off walking.
Tomorrow, more pictures and some thoughts on the pleasure and treasure of living in the pine woods and how it feeds the instinct toward creativity. It may even be an antidote for the tendency toward over-immersion in social media, a preservation of precious inner space.
*Title of this post suggested by author Rebecca Solnit’s superb piece in the London Review of Books. I saw it thanks to memoirist Richard Gilbert’s link. Highly recommended reading for all us “well-connected” folks, here.