Sweet Melancholy

We wake to darkness, but as the coffee perks the first pre-dawn light begins to show faint white hilltops to the east. Not snow, - oh surely not snow! As the darkness brightens it reveals clouds flirting familiarly with the Cawston Basin, hugging the hills, caressing the crevasses and flicking their skirts midway down to the valley bottom.

Caspar awakens, and he and the cat and I get ready for the early morning business trip. As we open the door and he hesitates at the top step, feeling his bearings, I am struck by the quietness as the sky covers the earth with a blanket of silence. There is not a breath of air, - the garden is still slumbering and still faintly fragrant from its nighttime scents.



We walk down the road, cat trailing behind, then ahead, - then up a tree and peering at us from the branches. There is no sound of farm machinery, no pickers gathering to work. The branches that a few days ago were laden to the ground with bright red apples once again stretch out to touch each other.

Across the valley the clouds reach half way down the hill, but the gathering light reveals the faint fall colours of the deciduous trees on K Mountain.

There is a sweetness in the country side that speaks lingeringly of melancholy, - the bright days just a memory, and the mellowness of autumn's beauty still an omen of bitter days ahead.

Mission accomplished we turn back up the lane, the dog fully awake now, with his tail wagging and his ears flapping. Cat darts into the orchard and out of sight, but I know she will be on the steps to greet us.

As our steps take us home the clouds brighten, first faintly, but as the sun climbs higher up the other side of the hills it illuminates them with some promise of a nice morning.

By the time we reach the door and I am able to retrieve the camera there is a lot of glory hanging about up there.