My brother and I have this odd (and likely annoying) habit of repeating the same word or phrase back to each other. In a November weekend interlude, he says duskier, which sums up these November days. I toss it back to him — duskier — then add gloaming.
To break the gloom, we walk through woods not far from my house. Little streams run. Somone has built enchanting steps of fieldstones. At the path’s end, a bog stretches out, the tamarcks’ gold faded pale. Spring, summer, the birds sing wildly happy here. Now, the flutter of wings, nothing more.
There’s a place for all of this: silence and settling down, the drawing in for winter.
Come, for the dusk is our own….
— Lucy Maude Montgomery
Stony Soil Vermont 
Odd (and sweet) trumps annoying. Love it.
Indeed! Thank you!
❤️
I could see it all as if I were there
Seeing through a veil of dusk, though.
The place where you live just sounds so idyllic in an urbanised world.
Well….. this is a small slice, of course, of my world. In the last few days, there’s a been a murder/suicide (not a domestic) just a few streets over. Like the rest of the world, small town. rural Vermont is changing, too. Nonetheless, I know I’m lucky to live here.
Duskier is great word. I love that picture.
Just past the lovely tamarack season where those beauties turn glowing yellow.
Annoying? Never! Sounds like a sweet kind of connectedness.
Thanks ❤️