Giggling. . .
We have a new member of our ensemble. Meet Chili.
He is part fainter part Nubian. He won't get much larger than this. He joins our cast courtesy of Small Farm Girl and Small's excessive pleading. He misses having goats about. So I caved. Small loathes school here. So a little goat to make things more pleasant for him was an easy decision.
The nights here have turned colder. Leaves have exploded in vibrant yet dulled colors. Things seem morose here. The overcast days, littered with rain, doesn't help the feeling of sadness. Though I am not stuck in a pit of depression, but the over all feeling of this place is one of morbidity. More so than any other place I have visited at this time of year. Fall always ushers in death, and you can actually feel it here. Husband says I have arrived in my true world. And even though I still know I do not fit in with the locals, this holler has become home. I have always meant to be here.
The full moon is startling bright when you are surounded by trees and hills. The framing of the sky still fascinates me, and I hope my awe of it never dulls. The scenery changes just as you grow use to it, and start to see the mundane. New brilliance erupts. Whether it be life or death that occupies the sight.
The hills have quitted. The screaming has gone into torpor. Or has moved on to wintering grounds. As much as it sent chills prickling down my spine, I have begun to miss them. I can only assume that the bean sidhe will return come spring.
Our wood stove has been heating the house nicely as the night time temperatures fall below freezing. My fall garden is still doing just fine. We learned that it doesn't frost down here as quickly as it does up top. That adds to my relief. I digress, the stove is doing a fine job in its temporary setting. Flames flicker well into the night. The hard woods make us smell less like bacon as the fruit woods of Kansas did. Medium is grateful for that to say the least.
Thinghere have slowed. We have done all the winter prep that we were able to in such a short time. Snow has begin to fall in the mountains surrounding us. It is just a matter of time before Banshee Holler sees the fine white stuff blanketing her. Let us hope I can escape up top when needed. The mud has caused issues with me being able to leave in the old Ford. I portend being isolated much more often then any one else has predicted.
