Sunday, Sunday…

So why do we capitalize the days of the week?

It’s Sunday morning, just at sunrise.  The pinks and magentas of the rise are reflected in the sunroom windows.  I am in the kitchen, drinking coffee and getting the wood stoves going.  The kitchen stove is cracking away nicely, and the furnace has shut down, hopefully for the day.  It’s 28 degrees fahrenheit outside.

Dennis went out with his camera.  He is determined to get photographs of the valley off Big Hill Road.  We were there Friday afternoon and the trees were just starting to show color.  So this morning, once the sun tops the ridge of hills between the valley and the Chippewa River, he should get some decent shots.

I have a feeling that fall color this year is going to last about as long as the sunrise this morning.   The trees are slow to color, and with the cold temperatures the leaves are dropping as fast as they color.  The kiwi on the deck gave up yesterday and the deck is now buried in frosted gold.  I’ve never seen the birds so busy gathering the seeds of the cone flowers, even the blue jays are having at the seed heads.   What do they know we don’t?

I didn’t go with Dennis out into the cold morning.  Nope, this morning I am keeper of the fire, and soon to be maker of the pancakes.  When he gets home we will have pancakes for breakfast.  A Sunday morning tradition started sooo many years ago.  Pancakes cooked on the cast iron cookstove on a chilly fall morning.  Well, that’s one of my ideas of perfect.  That, and a good cup of coffee- presently brewing in the pottery coffee pot.

I met the maker of the coffee pot yesterday at the Red Wing Art Fair.  Peder the potter was there, but he had no coffee pots.  That’s no problem, the one we have is just right.  He did have lovely platters and bowls and I was tempted to get some, but then remembered we have so many seldom used up in the cupboards.  Same for the stunning woven throws and scarves in the booth near his.  Oh, so beautiful, so finely made and in such wonderful colorways.  It made my fingers twitch to just look at them.

Pottery, it looks complicated.  But weaving is one of those things I have always wanted to learn to do.  If only, if only…I had a loom…  Once I thought I should learn to spin wool.  I would start with the sheep, and then get the spinning wheel.  Sheer the sheep, card the wool, spin the wool, dye the wool, and then, finally knit the wool into some warm toasty garment.  For weaving all I need is the loom and the wool and a lot of instruction and I could be making those beautiful throws and scarves and cloth that could end up being anything.  A dream in the reality of the day.

The fair itself was cold.  The crowds were small, and everyone was dressed as if winter had arrived.  I could have used a hat and some mittens.  Both items were at home in the closet.  Oh well, the fair did what it was meant to do; Dennis got a little boost of inspiration and signed up for the Red Wing Camera club.

Today, after pancakes for breakfast, it will be time to refill the woodboxes.  Maybe, if the sun sticks around, I will go leaf collecting or spend some time in the garden.  Sundays tend to be days of drifting around tasks and projects.

We have been promised snow tonight.  I wonder, sometimes with a certain amount of hope, if this could be another winter of “84, with it’s early snow and frigid temperatures.  Another year winter gets a chance to show its teeth.  If so, bring it on.

Advertisements