The leaves changed overnight: fall has arrived and winter is fast approaching. That familiar chill is in the air. Matt got up earlier than me today, a rarity, and my cold toes felt the shock of his absence. I tiptoed downstairs to set the heat at 70 and start the coffee, then ran back to bed in a scurry.
Yesterday I took him to Eagle Creek for his first time and we hiked through the woods for a couple of hours. I grew up hiking at Eagle Creek, but it’s not the park of my childhood; everything changes, no? Trying to find private solace, it was difficult for us to escape the preponderance of Mexican trumpets blaring from someone’s car…in the woods. I love ethnicity, just keep your music down.
The weather was perfect for crushing leaves beneath our shoes, holding hands and exchanging glances and smiles. My heart hummed all the octaves.
Matt was in rare form both Friday and Saturday night. Saturday, around midnight, he took me up into the attic in his garage where we sat Indian-style (do I have to say Native American Indian-style?) and drank wine. Upon climbing back down he decided to golf…in the garage…with the doors shut and his car inside. Have another glass of wine, smartypants.
His golf stance could use a little improvement: he looked like an old man trying to heed his backside to a child’s lawn chair. He hit the ball a few times and it disappeared. He finally opened the garage door and said, “Honey, get the eggs.” We took turns blasting eggs in the yard, and Matt (after carving many divots) shot a tomato and a can of diet Coke toward the neighbors we don’t like much.
Later, right before he fell asleep, he announced that he had Coke all over his feet. But those sticky toes were sure nice in cold weather.
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