An Ode to Windover ...

What is it about the classically slow pace of the bucolic lifestyle that is so enchanting? Falling asleep to the cool crisp night-time air blowing softly through an open window? Or maybe the 70 year old neighbor farmer rambling down the lane on an ancient tractor at a snails pace? Those evening walks where the sun is just dipping below the rolling hills and the evening fog is beginning to roll into the multitude of dips and valleys?

Needless to say, returning to the hustle and bustle (and work) of the city is always a shocker. I am immediately stuck at my desk struggling to come to terms with reality, my head drifting back to morning dew and homemade blueberry pie. I find myself staring
aimlessly and listlessly out the window, my mind retracing footsteps down narrow trails and over ancient rocks. Perhaps the farming life is really the way to go. Shun the overbearing reality of big city life and cling to the simple, basic necessities. Easy to talk about, not so easy to follow through with.

It was a wonderful weekend though, filled with hikes and walks and doggie play time. Swimming in the Loyalsock (humans and dogs), hiking through Worlds End and Ricketts Glenn, admiring the multitude of waterfalls, and doing a little fly fishing. Sleeping late and waking up early. Quiet evenings and afternoon thunderstorms. It could have been 1905.