I’ve written a lot of posts on writing lately. That’s fine and good because I am a writer. One who’s been working to build her public platform because professionals more experienced in publishing tell her she needs to. This six-month foray into blogs about writing has been frutiful, and I send a HUGE “thank you” to 45,000 followers here, on YouTube, Pinterest, Facebook, and Twitter. You guys, from twenty-six countries, are the best.
But I miss my first love. So starting next week, Tuesday’s blog will be about writing, and Friday’s about something dear to my heart: theology, archaeology, women’s or children’s issues, or maybe just the changing seasons surrouding my perch. I miss sharing this richness with you, and private comments from you to me indicate you feel the same way.
So let me start with the leaf. It’s the first orange aspen leaf I’ve seen this year—and won’t be the last. The tops of the mountains are looking sleepy and golden with grasses dying back for the hard months ahead. I am invigorated by the change, although summer seemed short this year.
The bucks are still hanging out together, in velvet they’ll scrape off in the next few weeks to prepare for the rut. The bears are consuming 30,000 calories a day preparing to hibernate. A huge flock of Cedar Waxwings tore through the serviceberries early this week, picking them clean of the smallblack fruit for which the bushes are named. Little spotted fawns are getting bigger and fiestier, building their strength to face their first winter in the mountains.
I’ll be baking Christmas biscotti in a month or two (watch for THAT recipe, the only one I posted last year). I’ll soon take my cross-country skis to be waxed, anticipating the opening of the course right after the first heavy snow sometime in December. And by the middle of next month, snow tires will replace the regular tires on my Toyota.