October spiraled down and is settling under the pines. The eaves sag with sleep. The earth burrows in, and so do I. There are still some finishing touches to tend; remaining leaves, and the acorns tumbling into crevices and between tree roots. Finding final homes. The acorns make a satisfying plunking sound, on spongy forest paths and sidewalks and bark. I've gathered some over the last few months, and they sit on my mantle. Sometimes the cat knocks them to the ground.
I put them back. They have soft fur on them. The chipmunks feast!
The first snow came, gently at first, but not for long. The herald of November, the wispy shameless sky. The snow was wet and lined every branch, and the sky glowed pink and periwinkle and lavender. I was mesmerized and felt that a spell had been cast. A glowing cloak to carry into the winter months. The snow put a silent cover over October and buried it, safely, under the ground. October brought seeds of growth and they have been sown. Now they rest.
And so do I.
In rest, we dream.
In honor of dreams:
My partner has always told me about a giant he dreamed of as a boy, trundling in a terrifying manner out from the trees and into the field across the street from his house. Ever since hearing that story I see the giant in my mind, and know that horror of a dream, when something big and unfathomable stalks from the forest of your home and chases you; only you. I see that giant almost clearly, and the field becomes a place of legend, where a small child was in a battle, with a creature from another realm.
The landscape dreams.
Or dreams us. Or we dream it. A tapestry of both, a legacy of joining. We live here and the land lives beneath our feet. We tell it stories and it gifts us spaces to adventure.
They are going to be building more homes in the field and my heart broke when I heard. Where will the giant stalk? Between concrete and among the manicured fences. Of course, change is a part of this land we live on. I know this.
But the giant. Our dreams.
The landscape dreams and we forget it holds treasures beyond compare. Our adventures, our own stories. They seem imaginary, but they come alive.
Because every time we drive by the field, day or night, I see the giant, I see a small boy, running for cover. The stuff of magic. The epic adventures we long for, right before our eyes.
As the night deepens, I tend the hearth. I dream and work hard and weave together all I have learned.
The landscape dreams, and nothing built on it will ever be stronger than our giants, our secret streams, our magic chairs made of moss and stone. Our kingdom that will always be a part of us.
Think about the landscape you are in and the dreams you've had there. They are more real than you think.