“The leaves fall, the wind blows,
and the farm country slowly changes
from the summer cottons into its winter wools.”
– Henry Beston, Northern Farm
This time of year I have the urge to become a bit of a hermit. I want to shut out the world and hole up in my house for some time alone with my hot tea and my measured thoughts.
I want to read Wendell Berry and not emerge for days into the very nature he writes about. I need some time to blend the seasons.
At the same time, the days are too enticing. Beautiful weather encourages me to be outdoors and it seems a pity to not be interacting with people while the weather allows.
I’m left feeling that it’s inevitable that something gets cheated.
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