Cold Wood Smoke

October 29, 2021

Last night it smelled properly like October, and I took deep lungfuls of the cold smoky air that was slightly painful but delicious. This morning the grass looked almost like frost–but we still haven’t had a hard frost yet. And it’s still incredibly wet. It’s the wettest fall I’ve ever seen. I’m not saying I remember everything, but it definitely seems different. I had a nice silent walk to visit some waterfalls I know. No one else was on the trail, and I was able to soak in the falling leaves, the thick luxurious moss and the rushing stream. The water levels are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The stream is unrecognizable. When I see it I breathe in sharply and whisper, “Wow!” You can’t help but to react this way if you know the stream. It looks more like a river now, much wider, much stronger, rippling muscularly in its middle. The gentle falls are now white rapids, and you can see in the thickest parts that the water is tinged tan from all the leafy tannins. This is big water even by spring deluge standards. I just can’t believe it, and I mutter to myself that it’s all very different now and that things aren’t changing. They have changed.

Note: As fall slowly winds down, things become more static. With that in mind, I’m tightening this up and editing down to one day per week to reflect the microseason.