Days of early October, as the scent of the air wisps through the hills and dense treetops; the sky: a muted-gray cover. Rivers of fog settling in around us. A cool shift, mists our clothes and hair; brings stinging tingles to our fingertips and toes. From the sea, the trail, the mountain, the marina-to the fire and bed. Sensations of every season pull me back to the first with you. And I can feel again, the lucid romance. Black slugs and beetles, lakes of ice, skies of snow, blue herons, shores of soft pebbles. I had not felt a season before us; a raw, undiluted engagement with nature and one man.
