Wonder of the Unexpected

Today I’m sitting in my office formatting a paperback, lamenting the fact that I can’t get out into the sunny day. At least the light is pouring in through my bay windows, which makes my office a pleasant place to hang out.

My decision to publish three novels in as many months means I’ve been so busy lately that I’m missing autumn, my favorite season. The novels were basically already written, in case you were wondering if I’m one of those superhumans who can crank out a novel per month from scratch. I am not. My books are long and complex to boot so that would be quite a feat, even if I didn’t have a stinky day job.

Independent publishing is a lot of work, however, so each weekend I spend 12 hours or so per day doing what I have to do. At least this includes some writing. Yay! 

As autumn gleams outside my window I cheer myself up by remembering all the times I’ve made deliberate trips to view the foliage only to find the peak had passed, or it wasn’t a good year.

This gets me thinking about my most magical experiences. Usually, they are unexpected.

Once, my cousin and I hiked the Escarpment Trail in the Catskill Mountains of New York. We planned it months ahead of time. My cousin’s little kids made this necessary. We weren’t thinking at all about foliage even though we scheduled it for October.

Boy-oh-man did we get lucky. The Escarpment Trail winds along a series of cliffs. Everywhere we looked we found a rolling carpet of brilliant yellow, orange and red. A light rain fell the whole time. You might think that was a drag, but it wasn’t. The soft light made the colors more vivid. Yellow like ripe corn. Orange like  hot July sunsets. Red like garnets held to candles. I’ll never forget it, really. The views and the wonderful smell! Fresh rain and earth. What a trip. And then there was the time the Hubby and I were hiking in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. (Can you tell I'm partial to mountains?) We chose the first weekend in October. We hoped for good leaf-peeping, but that year the trees were mostly brown. The locals told us it was because of an unusually hot, dry summer. Of course, we hiked anyway because it was beautiful in its own way.

On the second day of the trip we rounded the corner of a dilapidated barn to witness a meadow filled with monarch butterflies, thousands of them, floating and fluttering and clinging to trees and reeds of tall grass that swayed in the warm breeze. The Monarch Migration! Every year these delicate little things zigzag all the way to Mexico! The sight was magical -- soothing and thrilling at the same time. Every time I think about it I feel lucky to have seen it. So lucky.
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So there is my thought for the day. Always be ready for unexpected delights. They’re the best kind.
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