Autumn

The roses had been hanging in thin morning air… and my soul had been suspended in there too—in the air, with the lingering perfume of late summer’s glories and pompous fall colors; with the birds flying south and the night stars shining in the open Prussian sky.  

For the past few weeks it had been like that—the tired old summer and autumn joining hands together; embracing each other in an applause and celebration of the new season and that time of the year of subdued beauties, colors and quiet glories.  

But now, it is time for them to part and say goodbye. For today, winter is moving in.  Temperatures have dropped and although the earth is still bathed in autumnal glories, the land is visibly preparing itself for its long slumber.

It is hard to say goodbye to the garden.  Hard to stay away from it and enjoy it only from the comfort behind my window.

The birds are consulting about their migrations, and I have stocked their feeders with all sorts of goodies that the squires are stealing away, and the trees are beginning to strew the ground.

Everything speaks of magic and of a quiet peace.  There is something magical and incredibly nostalgic about fall and this cascade of autumn leaves and windchime music.  For suddenly you know it… it is time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings; time to breath in the smoke of chimneys in the air and watch the leaves making little swirls in the air; dancing in the autumn sun in brilliant shades.  I’m so in love with the fall season; so in love with the month of October—month of mystery and charm and the mellow music of the earth.

Do you love autumn too?  Do share!

The gypsies

Nature had turned the color of maple syrup and cinnamon toasts round here… and it’s been cold with beautiful sunny afternoons.  And thus, the gypsies wanted to go explore the world again; one, or maybe two more times before things get really cold and dreary winter days descend upon the land with its accustomed vehemence.

And I’m so happy we did!  The campground we chose this time was like a beautiful shroud of splendorous colors spread-out upon the landscape.  Trees, shrubs and vegetations had turned into a dreamy, magical storybook, while yellow leaves covered the ground, bequeathing it with a certain mystery and a feel of wonder and magic.

A few feet down the trails, was the Snake River with its Three Island Crossing where many years ago emigrants on the Oregon Trail reached a critical junction. Here they had to decide whether to make the difficult crossing of the Snake River or take a longer alternative route along the south side of the river.

 

We cooked and ate our lunch...

And then I engaged in my favorite pastime

of embellishing and organizing  our gypsy caravan...  

 

 

Later that afternoon we went to visit The Oregon Trail History and Education Center where visitors can learn about pioneer immigrants and Native American history.

Some of the hardest things the emigrants had to do were crossing rivers. When you read the diaries there are a lot if incidents of deaths at the river crossings. So, when they get to Three Island Crossing, they’ve got a decision to make. They could continue on down the south side of the Snake which was known as the dry and the longest route and the more desolate route or they could risk crossing. So, it was whether you wanted to risk drowning or take the long route. 

We walked down to the river right after visiting the museum, and then ambled around where these people once stood, lived, and died… what an amazing experience, and what amazing view!

The evening turned in in soft hushed colors and a great hush came over the place… 

The gypsy caravan felt cozy and warm... It was so cold and wet outside, but inside it felt cozy and warm and wonderfully the two of us… ah I want to stay curled and cozied with my cups of coffee and all of our books, iPad and laptops in our gypsy caravan!

We woke up very early the following morning; woke up with cold and a deep desire to visit the darkness outside and perhaps… be blessed too with the awesome vision of a nocturnal bird and its hunting songs…

But it didn’t happen.  We cooked our breakfast and eat it inside our gypsy caravan shrouded by its coziness and silence; the darkness outside peeking in through lace-covered window illuminated by fairy lights…

 

It rained that morning and everything got soaked and it was cold and damped, and I almost beg the Fisherman to return home.  but we stayed.  We read and wrote and watched some movies...

 

In the afternoon we hop in our truck and went by the quaint little town to explore its surroundings; stopped at an ice-cream parlor and sat down to enjoy… that’s when all the rains came down! The wind picked up and rain rushed through in a big gulp of water and hail and wind and we went back to our camp to cozy up again in our gypsy caravan...