My morning walk to “work” from Mill Hose had all the usual stops and starts of any morning commute. First it was the noise– the bird chirping so gaily from the thick of trees that I slowed to look in that direction to try and see. Then crossing the spring-fed creek, the babbling brook drowns out all other sounds and in doing so seems to refresh my soul. Then stopping for the light, standing still facing the sunrise a white circle through the fog over the mountain– watching it move ever so slowly but with such wonder that I am grateful for my luck in timing this morning.
My path is a back road behind the Blacksmith shop (named for Clay Spencer, who is here teaching this week) with a rock out-cropping at the first turn. It is lined with the last of the autumn wild flowers, falling leaves just beginning to turn to reds, and cut grass on one side as I pass the Festival Barn. Several squirrels are the only other souls I see startling me as they run across the metal roof of the wood barn. So I make a short stop at Mouse town. Okay, so I was late for breakfast this morning.
Assistant Weaving Instructor