If the colours of autumn were food, they would offer a feast of flavours – cinnamon reds, butter yellows, lettuce greens, apricot golds – filling our mouths and stomachs and leaving us satisfied. If they were music, they would be whatever kind of music most moved you and made you dance with abandon.
That’s what Saturday morning was like. Visual glory so moving you hardly knew how to experience it. Walking, as we do, in fluid groups with changing companions, I repeatedly heard my TWP friends say how privileged we are to be able to do what we do – walking in beauty, with friends, and then sharing a breakfast and good conversation. Really, does life get much better?
Our breakfast talk turned to dealing with life’s ending – our own and others, the choices we wanted and the possible pitfalls. It wasn’t a morbid conversation but full of dark humour and practical insights.
For me it offered an interesting counterpoint to the earlier lightness of the walk and I concluded that the entire morning was a microcosm of living – an on-going balancing of the happy and the sad, the joy and the sorrow, the ups and the downs. Recognizing that, I am going to try and store some of the sparkling joy of Saturday morning to cheer me up on the next dreary grey one (and my fingers are crossed that won’t be next Wednesday, post the American election!).