Friday, October 17, 2014

Connecticut 191

Traveling south into Connecticut, I enjoy a back road route through the old villages of Hazardville, Scitico, Melrose, and Broad Brook-- hamlets  that were long ago swallowed up into the towns of Enfield and East Windsor. 

Below Route 190, it's mostly farmland--tobacco, corn, apples, squash, blueberries, and tree farms. I enjoy watching the seasons change--the rough furrows of soil being made ready for planting in the spring, and a little later acres of rhododendrons and azaleas flashing bright pink. This time of year the orchards are loaded with apples.

This week in between fields cut back ready for a winter's rest, there was a whole field of sunflowers still standing and staring at their namesake, and a field of perfectly ripe pumpkins I hadn't noticed last week.  Between last week and this, the pumpkins' leaves had dried and withered, exposing this array of round orange fruit. I did not see any farm stand nearby selling pumpkins, so I suspect there are no future jack o' lanterns here. These are the leftovers, left to be eaten by the wildlife.

A little beyond the field of pumpkins is an old tobacco barn that has fallen. I remember its slow leaning, leaning, finally succumbing to gravity with the help of a hurricane.  The old barn, the old villages have past, but today the pumpkins are ripe and ready.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Old Friends

Yesterday Riley went to the Dog Shop
where they brushed his hair for half an hour.
This morning he wanders the still green yard,
as if he carries a frost of snow on his back.
When climbing into the car, he needs a lift
where he used to leap right up to the seat.

Yesterday Jean called to say that Peter had died.
Peter and Riley enjoyed each other.
Peter would feed him bits of cheese.
This is the last one, then one more.
Neither Riley nor I complained.
This morning I am fed by this memory.