I’ll begin with my apology to Avalus for taking so long to post this photo of a beautiful moth (falter). I received it in August and promptly misplaced it. It popped up at me today in an unexpected place, and I am happy to post it at last. You might say that I faltered in posting this falter.
Here is a black and white moth on the bark of a birch tree.
falter ©Avalus, all rights reserved
Late yesterday afternoon, my mother died peacefully in the company of her best friend and myself. Mom’s been inching toward death since mid-August, and while I’m sad that her life has ended, I’m relieved to have her dying ended.
We’ll be having a short service followed by burial on Friday afternoon, so Jack and I will be taking the rest of this week off. We both hope that you have a Merry Hallowe’en, and we’ll see you again on Monday, November 4th.
Evelyn Raymond. The Little Lady of the Horse. Boston Roberts Brothers, 1894.
©voyager, all rights reserved
It was a wet and windy weekend, and by this morning, almost all the pretty leaves had blown away. There are a few bright patches here and there, but the riot of colour is finished for another year. Jack and I set out feeling a bit blue about the bare trees, but the sun was shining, the day was warm and pleasant, and it wasn’t long before we were both feeling better. The colour may be gone looking up, but there’s still plenty of pretty here on the ground. We passed burning bushes burning scarlet and porches with pumpkins and mums in pots. We found lavender of the palest blue, golden hostas and even a red-breasted robin picking at purple berries. The fallen leaves from the weekend are still full of colour, too, and they brightly litter the ground in every direction. Jack says he can see the leaves better this way, and he thinks that’s why they fall – so the small creatures who don’t look up much can appreciate them too. I didn’t tell him otherwise.
Howard R. Garis. Snarlie the Tiger. New York, R. F. Fenno & company, 1916.
Quick, how many cows? ©voyager, all rights reserved
When I was a kid, my dad often took us for family drives on Sundays. Whenever we passed a farm with cows in the field, my dad would say, “Quick, voyager, how many cows are there,” then, he’d hit the gas and go fast, too fast for me to count them all before they were out of sight. I’d throw out a good guesstimate like 26 or 34 or 101, but no matter what my answer was, Dad always said, “Nope, there were 28 or 35 or 105.” Then he’d wait for me to say, “how did you do that so quick.’
“Easy, he’d say. I counted the legs and divided by 4.”
Mortimer P. Griswold “Smirk” ©voyager, all rights reserved
I was feeling a bit blue today, but Jack and I made the acquaintance of a new friend in the forest who helped buoy my spirits. His given name is Mortimer P. Griswold (the fourth), but he told us to call him Smirk. We met quite by accident when Jack almost peed on him, but luckily, Smirk called out in time for Jack to lower his leg and grin a small apology. Smirk laughed it off, saying that soaking up dog pee was just part of being a tree, and then he complimented Jack on his excellent manners. We stayed and chatted for a few minutes and Smirk giggled the whole time. He told us a few tree jokes that were a bit lame (How do trees get online? They log in.), but he was so darned happy that it was easy for Jack and I to laugh. We agreed to visit him again before leaving and then Jack and I continued on our way, both of us wearing a smile.
©voyager, all rights reserved
“Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love – that makes life and nature harmonize.”
– George Eliot
Mark Twain. A Dog’s Tale. Illustrated by W.T. Smedley. New York, Harper Bros., 1904.
Cover photo via: Biblio.com
Available to read at The Internet Archive
Complementary Colours ©voyager, all rights reserved
It’s a beautiful day in my neighbourhood. The air is clear and crisp with a northwest wind that has just enough bite to make the tips of your ears tingle. The sun is shining in a blue blue sky, and the trees are on fire and dancing in the wind. The sidewalks are littered with withering copper leaves that tickle your ankles and rustle as you walk. Some fallen leaves still want to dance, and they go skittering down the street riding on the wind. It’s the sort of day that fills my senses and makes me feel quiet. I’m pretty sure Jack feels the same way – today, we put aside the talk of this and that and walked in companionable silence, each of us soaking up the season.
©voyager, all rights reserved
It’s election day in Canada and Jack is upset that he can’t vote. I explained to him that he’s too young, but he said that’s only in people years and that in dog years he’s almost 80.
“Well, that’s a good point, Bubba, but even if you are old enough, you’re still a dog and dogs can’t vote.” I reached down to fondle his ear. He heaved a sigh and walked away muttering about civic responsibility and how silly and stupid people are.
I mulled that over while I finished the dishes and then I grabbed my coat and Jack’s leash and called out to him, “hey Bubba…wanna be a greeter at the polling station. That’s an important job, and it’s best suited to a dog just like you.”
He happily joined me and off we went up the street to stand outside the polling station and say hi to all the people. We stayed for about half an hour, and once Jack’s tank was overflowing with love and adoration we slowly made our way home. Jack quickly fell asleep, but the thought bubble over his head was filled with smiley faces and a job well done. That’s my boy.
©voyager, all rights reserved
Have a good weekend everyone. Jack and I will see you on Monday.
©voyager, all rights reserved
It’s a double gravity sort of day for me and I’ve been dragging my ass. The weather is cold and damp with a blustery, biting wind, and the sky is dreary and heavy with clouds. It’s not the sort of day that invites you to come out and play. Nonetheless, I did manage to walk Jack around the neighbourhood and by the time we arrived back home, I was feeling a bit better. We took our walk slowly, and it gave Jack a chance to smell lots of fallen leaves. He tells me that it’s important to smell the leaves because that’s how the trees talk to him. I asked him what the trees were saying, and Jack told me that some of them are thirsty and some of them are looking forward to winter, and this one beside us wants him to pee somewhere else. Oh. Alright, then Bubba, I guess we’d better go. Silly mummy, he said and lifted his leg to pee