When I was a child, there were branches of Bittersweet laid out upon our mantle, bright red stalks with orange berries. My mother would bring them home each fall, as brilliant autumn decorations, to liven up the greyer skies of an eastern autumn. Bittersweet was the bright colors, the change of season, the inedible berries, the mood of melancholy yet eager anticipation that comes with the falling of the autumn leaves. The leaves on our mountains hold steadfast and green this morning, but the bittersweet is on my mind.
The air this morning is bittersweet, warm and fresh and windy, and tickled pink, a bright fuchsia along the tips of the mountains in view over tree line. We saddle up once again, despite tired selves and horses, to bring a group up into the Wilderness.
The mood this morning is bittersweet as we are home having returned late yesterday from Ditch Camp, bringing our camp with us. 32 days of work in the high country, at our home away from home, for this season completed. Our bodies are elated to be over the heavy work. Our spirits are at a loss to leave our serene little camp tucked into the high trees…
Just for the year, just for the season… always changing. What will come next?