Peeping

Friday 22nd October

Day 184

An autumn vegetable stew is simmering on the stove - satisfying my craving for all things green and fresh - the spikey lime green turrets of a minaret cauliflower, the tight crinkles of dark forest neroli cabbage that I bought in the farmers’ market yesterday. I’ve missed choosing and chopping our meals.

Editing the too many photos on my computer, I crop and straighten misty New York skyscrapers, vermillion sugar maple leaves in Vermont, the white spires of clapperboard churches against brilliant blue in Maine, the curving beaches of Cape Cod and smiling faces above huge plates of food in dimly lit restaurants - everywhere.

This evening my legs take me automatically to the university parks where most of the leaves are still green except for some oak and sycamore turning rusty gold. And standing out in the gloom a couple of bright burning bushes - maples on fire. I know these trees - their seasons are part of my life now.

They call it leaf peeping, in America - gazing at the forests and valleys clothed in glorious autumn colour. We viewed this shining beauty from the car, stopped to take photos at the side of the road. I wish now we’d had more time - to linger in the woods, to kick through dry carpets of leaves, to hike up mountain trails and feel this crimson foliage fall on our faces.

I think peeping is like marvelling at the giant pumpkins and twenty varieties of apples in the street markets of Boston and not being able to taste them.