Louise's Utopia: Autumn, The Time For Solitude And The Thought Of Winter

Tomorrow she comes, Autumn, my friend. The childhood companion of solitude. Something about the air. It feels cooler. The hills in front of my house are changing rather quickly, too. Autumn ushers in a starkness that is unrecognizable.

For a short time the cattle on the top of the hill will somehow appear to be standing in the clouds. Without the leaves on the trees, the view will be unsettling. I wish it could be summer forever.

Soon, the sound of hunting will overtake the prairie. I expect I will see more wildlife, clamoring into the lower parts of the Coteau. I will soon be reaching for sweaters in place of tank tops. I have no plans for the fall.

In reality, I have already entered the cold of winter in my mind. I never really give fall a chance. Fall seems too harsh to me. Just a long, drawn-out goodbye. All the plants and leaves on the trees, which were my reality, will die. I will never enjoy their beauty again. Where does it go? The flowers that come again next spring will be my new friends. I will need to learn to love them. But they are not the plants I have. Goodbye to the flowers that I admired and loved.

Somehow, Autumn has made herself the month of saying goodbye. Again and again she comes. Each year, the goodbyes seem to compile and grow. More and more, until you're alone in a bitter winter wind, then you feel it.

I remember reading about Laura Ingalls as a child. Laura knows how I feel about winter. I too grow stern in winter. I feel like I set my face forcefully to it. It feels like a time of doing without. I dislike saying goodbye and moving on.

I am also not good at three months of snow or even longer. Time to get out the snow shovel, or maybe get a new one. I laugh, looking at a snow blower again. Oh, the resentful winter. I shake my head and wonder if something else will come in his place.

Maybe I'll escape to Arizona for the winter. It would not be so bad. It's warm there, at least. The bugs and snakes would creep me out. I could manage. I suspect people leave here for the winter, as I see some homes get covered with snow, and nobody seems to be around to run the snowplow.

Mochi and Miso hate the winter. They huddle up in the shop, terrorized by the blizzards. Poor cats. I know how they feel. Mochi freaks out. I think he would go mad if he were a human being. He spends so much of the winter huddled under a shelf or up high. His fine orange hair gets static electricity and loses its shine. He goes insane. Why shouldn't he? I think he gets cabin fever. I should let him inside with me. We could work through the madness together. I will say goodbye now. Tears.

Autumn 2024 Louise's Utopia Coteau Valley farm Hobby Farm South Dakota