Today I shrugged on a coat and headed for my favorite place on earth, the woodsy place where mushrooms sprout...
...and moss spreads...
...and water pools like a mirror.
Fall made it to the State Park before I did, leaving its misty, hazy colors laying about. I walk and hear the dripdrip of rain dropping, the thudthud of acorns falling, the slapslap of branches blowing into one another. The leaves congregate above my head and scatter below my feet. My breath hangs as I walk. My feet are wet, cold.
I love it here.
If I had all the money in the world, I'd buy a stretch of the park. I'd build a small cottage and buy an old blue bicycle and would sell fried pies and brownies to the children. As dusk fell, when everyone went home, I'd take my kayak out onto the water mirror and float... float... float. I'd float past the lily pads, past the bend where the maple kisses the water and float until the moon came out and glistened on the mirror. Then I'd turn toward home.
One can dream. Especially in a place like this. One can dream.