post-Thanksgiving


Stuffed with capon and pumpkin pie, we woke at the cottage early this morning while it was still dark; frost lay thick on the wooden deck, slippery beneath our boots. Bundled up in sweaters, hats and mittens, we finished packing up and set off across the lake in the motorboat. Halfway across we were blind, the mist all around us like a heavy (and slightly damp) cotton blanket. If I had been navigating, we'd be going in circles until the sun came up.

By the time we reached the other side, the sun was just starting to peek over some of the trees. The mist began to burn off after we loaded our stuff into the car and headed home but continued to pop up from time to time for the first hour or so, like a friend reluctant to leave, hiding in dips in the road and springing up to surprise us.

The ride back through the park was glorious: the combination of clear blue sky and autumn leaves was a wonderful explosion of colour in the morning sunlight. No wonder so many prople make the trek, to see the colours in Algonquin Park around this time of year, some from as far as Japan and China.
Sometimes I wonder about psychology behind the whole breathtaking colours thing. If the maple trees were full of brilliant oranges and reds and yellows throughout the year, would I be craving neutral shades?
"AH!" I'd gasp, glimpsing a patch of brown or grey amidst the blinding hues, fumbling for my camera. "How beautiful! How marvellous!"

Finished and sent off a revision to my Writer's Digest article, a bio for our Aurora nomination, have finally gotten over my jetlag.
The holidays have been wonderful, but I'm SO looking forward to getting back to a regular work week. :-)
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