The nights are drawing in. A chill settling in the air. Chores are turning from picking vegetables to stacking firewood. The wild turkeys are flocking together and in the yard most days, foraging on the plants that have gone to seed.
September saw meaningful adventures for me, exploring my home state of Maine. The first picture is high above the Penobscot River in the tallest bridge observatory in the world:
The other photos are autumn scenes in Baxter State Park, a rugged wilderness in the Maine Highlands that has long called my heart, and has now stolen a piece of it.
Winds of change have been blowing around me for the last year or so. Ever so quietly at first. Barely a whisper, I dismissed them. But they persisted, picking up speed, not willing to be ignored. So I started listening. Opening myself up to new things, new places, new experiences, new people, new possibilities. Change and vulnerability can be hard, can be scary. But I think the prospect of being at the end of life and looking back to all the things I didn’t do because I was too attached to a certain idea of what path my life should or shouldn’t take - that’s scary too. (I don’t like to give energy to regret, but I do try to live life in such a way that I’m happy and peaceful about my choices, knowing I did my best )
Live for today. Not for yesterday or tomorrow. One is gone and the other isn’t promised.
Also, flannel. All the flannel. Find Her in the Flannel.