The windows aglow with a soft grey light barely revealing the outlines of the furniture. Ouch, stubbed my toe (not). I prefer not to use the electricity in the presence of such beauty.
That was before the time change. My internal clock still wakes me an hour early, as does my cat, wanting food, and my regularity. I turn over in bed and await the alarm. The light is broad again before ever I arise.
This morning I had an appointment, on my day off, and rose well before dawn. There was only moonlight as I stoked the fire, then the orange light of the open wood stove flickering off the walls and reflected full on in the computer's blank screen; later dawn sneaking quietly on rosy tipped fingers, or whatever Homer said.
The leaves are mostly gone, the branches bare. Following Dolan Ridge toward town the vista over the Beanblossom is once again revealed. Oh was it fine this morning with frost edging everything close at hand like some digital trick and the melting rays of the sun only half way up the western hills. There was fog hanging low over Wylie Road, my secret backwater.
It has been a magnificent autumn, but this too shall pass.
I had to take my car in. I came really close to buying a new or late model vehicle. I mean, I make a median income, I ought to be able to afford a car, right? Well, on paper I could, but even now there are weeks that I struggle through. I chickened out. It's probably a good thing. The I Ching thinks so, even though I got a changing line that I'd never seen before. It said something like: the sage stands ready with many rags to plug the holes in his boat. This was when I asked about keeping the old vehicle. The prognosis was much worse for buying new though: Stagnation.
So I dropped the car off on the Northwest side and took off walking toward the South side where the cheap car rentals are (of course I could have taken a cab, silly). There was still frost in the shadows at first. I know Bloomington so much better now. Leaving aside the details let me just say that I am no longer a youngster. Trespassing derelict properties because they're interesting would be a lot harder to explain now, not that that stopped me. And here's a tip that I knew, but had forgotten: when you're on foot, follow the footpaths.
That's not exactly true, I recognized the short cut across 37, "the brutal highway," but it went up a pretty steep embankment and I wasn't entirely sure. I might have saved myself a step or two, no matter.
I visited some old haunts along the way. I once lived right across 5th street from Rose Hill Cemetery, nearly thirty years ago. I was looking for Hoagy Carmichael's grave. They've put a new headstone and I couldn't find it. "I thought it was here..." I was just about to leave when I saw the bottle of Crown Royal. I dug the rose out from under the fallen leaves.
I (we) am so blessed to live in such a wonderful place. Multiple adventures latter, involving graffiti art, solar panels, flying fish, and more, and after lunch at a local micro brewery I headed south on the "B-line," a Rails to Trails pedestrian thoroughfare. I knew that there was no way over the "Jordan River" past Grimes but I kept going because I have some old friends who live down that way.
It was the middle of the day and I didn't expect anyone to be home. I stopped first at the son's apartment at the bottom of the stairs. I knocked and called his name. No movement. It's a small apartment so I climbed the stairs to the Stepfather's apartment. Again no answer. Just as I was turning to leave the door at the bottom of the stairs opened. As we were saying "Hey, hey!" the door at the top of the stairs opened. All of a sudden it's a party!
But this too shall pass. I axed if there was a way over the creek short of Country Club and was told about the "Old Bridges." That's what I'm saying, "I know Bloomington so much better now." I'm saying, "follow the footpaths." I'm saying, "Rock On!"
