Yesterday was a good day for walking in the misty rain, then settling back in my armchair for a quiet day in the little cabin.
While it's true a lot of the leaves have dropped, up on the hilltop the color peeked out at me through the swirls of low-hanging clouds.
Deer tracks were everywhere, even by the front door- some brazen hussy must've tip-toed right up to the window boxes to nip a bit of the orange pansies. Oh well. They were just pruning up the scragglers.
I took a path I hadn't walked along before and what should I find? Just like the teapots, this bucket's bottom had rusted through. I don't know what the original cabin owners had going with sticking strange things on posts and in trees (an iron) but this way by far the most "normal" find to date.
When I got back to the cabin, I made a pot of tea and settled down with another slew of "how to really write a best-seller" books.
Before long, the day had passed and it was time to make the drive back into town.
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