It’s mid October.
Fall is quickly changing to winter here in the mountains.
Dusk comes early.
The trees stand nearly bare.
I can track my dog in the backyard just listening to her paws crunch the leaves.
I’ve taken shelter and a quaint cafe this afternoon. I am the last customer inhabiting the upstairs loft.
On my left I have a view of the town park and I watch people in sweaters and boots holding hands as they walk past.
In front of me is contrast. One tree bare, already strung with Christmas lights. Then a yellow-orange Aspen beside a dark green pine. The, far in the background, the foreboding and enticing Long’s Peak.
The cafe is closing soon.
Almost time for me to put on my hat. I’ll stroll back to my car, welcoming the dark and finding comfort in the crisp air.
At home, I’ll give my four-legged fluffball a hug and belly-rub before we settle down for the night, buried under blankets and watching Netflix.
The wind will most likely howl and beat against the windows, but we will feel safe. The wind only means change is coming, most likely snow.
I’ll say goodnight to the sky, kiss my dog’s wet nose one more time, and bury myself under the covers. My hibernation won’t be very long, but I relax knowing I’ll awake to another day of Harvest.
“It was a pleasant café, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a café au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write…” -Ernest Hemingway (quote on the wall at Inkwell & Brew)
A Dog and Her Girl 