The Good Animal

Maren sat on the love seat and watched the new day start as first light brightened the hills to the east. The shades of green varied from almost yellow to almost black. "Typical mid winter morning for Napa Valley in Feb.", she mused. Maren was still in awe that she actually lived here. She had been living here for over three years and now contemplated the serious possibility that she would be leaving.
Feb held a few too many sore spots for Maren. From the ridiculous sorrow from being alone or worse- forgotten on Valentine's Day to the ridiculously profound sorrow of watching the love of her life die in her arms. Not once but twice. Twice the husband that she adored was gone. Widowed first at 47 and again at 54. Maren chose to honor the love for each and kept both married names as her compound name. "No hyphen." she always added. "I loved them both - kept both their names".
Napa was never really a desired destination but FL was too sad and CA was always such fun with Claude. He hated his name but somehow it sounded fine when Maren said it. Claude - the absence of this dear, funny, pompus - but funny- gentle man leveled Maren to the ground. Abe was the love of her young life. The father of her two beautiful dtrs.

My Indian Summer

Autumn officially arrived days ago but the first see your breath chill met me this morning. The trees are clinging to their drying, browning leaves with the same tenacity fragile folk use to draw their sweaters closer.
The shift from succulent berries and stone fruit to heartier fare reminds me of seasons past. People season too.
Well past the midpoint of my incarnation this time; stepping less gingerly and more resigned to the rhythm of the ever faster spinning of the world. The question that arises is what if I have already had my Indian summer?
And thanks for your time.