Re: I Met Myself Last Night...
As the twilight hours of Sunday evening gave way to the coming of nightfall, the temperatures dropped accordingly, taking on that certain sort of "Fall" coolness that makes a man glad to have a sweatshirt or sweater nearby. It had been a productive day, and it showed in almost every corner of the small cabin property known as "Trail's End." Firewood was stacked and wood boxes had been filled, final "summer" chores were now put to rest, and there again were the sight and sounds of life inside the old place.
With the darkness settling over the river's horseshoe bend below, I left the front porch for the friendlier confines of the cabin's interior, intent on putting a match to the stack of split oak that rested on the grate inside the stone fireplace, just to take the chill off. As the fire roared to life, the move was greeted with enthusiasm by The Speaker of the House and our youngest daughter, Jesse. Apparently, the "gentler" members of this family don't share my enthusiasm for cool night air, preferring instead inside temperatures that do not require "layering" for warmth. So it goes...
As it has long been at "Trail's End," I planted myself on the old leather couch in front of the fire. There is something magical about losing oneself in the warmth and flickering flames of a good fire, much the same as there is a soft glow to be found in the light of an oil lamp or an old gas-light. They all offer illumination by pushing back the shadows... but only to a point. Beyond the rings of light remain mysteries that only are discovered by moving said lantern or ramping up the gas feed to the lights.
The girls retired early in the evening, opting for the aging "feather-beds" rather than the over-stuffed leather couch and leaving me to my "trip of recall" through the many times that I had been so positioned on the couch, and squarely placed in front of a fire. And, though I'd promised myself a little "exploration" time, the eye-lids grew heavy as the wear-and-tear of the wood-stacking duties started catching up with me.
I awoke in the very same spot, early Monday morning. The fire had nearly burned itself out, and the chill again was taking over. Pushing aging bones back into a vertical position and acknowledging the fact that I had soreness in spots that I never realized could be "sore," I began extinguishing lamps and buttoning things up while the girls finished loading the few things into the "Fish Truck." The fires out and the front door secured, we eased along the two-track leading out, then hit the main road for home.
And, as I drove, I thanked the powers that be for the old cabin. As the late Montgomery Jackson was fond of saying, "Everybody needs a place of retreat like "Trail's End..." Amen to that, old friend... Amen to that...
Last edited by hairwing530; 08-07-2013 at 06:09 AM.