On Friday, the cold finally descended on us, along with cold winds. The dog and I went outside several times to take photographs. The second time, I stopped to put on moccasins and a warm shirt. That worked a lot better.
Both I and the dog were not feeling our best, today. She slept underneath a living room chair, and I fell asleep in the recliner, getting up when I woke feeling warm, again. I like the autumns and the winters. I enjoy the cooler weather, fresh-smelling winds, and the frost on cold mornings. Spring and summer, with the pollen and wasps—not so much.
I enjoy cooking in the colder weather, too. Thick soups, pot roasts, and omelettes with strawberries and preserves, Monterey Jack cheese, chopped mushrooms and ham. Coffee concentrate reconstituted with steaming hot milk instead of water.
And I love the colors of the leaves. The patterns in which they fall, and the textures that are visible when the late afternoon sun shines through them.
I wrote “Stuck in the Big Apple” using the first line of a spam post as a prompt: “I’d been stuck found in the big apple in the course of every one of the environments.”
“Stuck in the Big Apple”
by Elizabeth Bennefeld
Stuck in the big apple,
gnawing my way toward
warm skin, a way out
into a broader world than this.
A world with light and movement
beyond the muffled sounds
of solitary chewing
in the core of my cradle,
this sweet prison.