Today was a perfect day for a walk. The morning and afternoon passed by – I, getting things done inside and my wife studying - while our mutual feelings of guilt over not paying more attention to Violet grew stronger. So, right before dinner, I took her for a quick walk up into the meadow. On the way, we picked some wild grapes and she poked at the black flesh after I smashed one for her. I didn’t give her a taste; the grapes need to weather a few frosts before they grow sweet enough for eating. Next to the grapes, a cluster of tightly packed sumac berries caught Violet’s attention, and she spent a good, long while running her hands down the bunch, fascinated by the tiny, fuzzy balls tumbling down into my open palm. Eventually, we made it to the meadow, where we followed a monarch butterfly, making its way among the asters, preparing for its long migration. It grew tired of our pestering and disappeared up the hill. We headed that way, too, and tasted a few apples (too sour yet) from the tree at the top, and sat in the grass, piling blades up on Violet’s legs while she scattered them in every direction. Everything around us said ‘fall’, especially the leaves. Here and there, only a few have changed color. The rest look faded and beat. It always seems to come on so fast, fall arrives while I’m not looking, but this year even more so. My attention lies elsewhere.
301 days old