So today I finally had the time and gumption to reach my coffee via Bingham Hill. Not bad, actually, at all. Yes, I walked partway up but who cares. I doubly earned my Bellvue Brunch and had a lovely time as well. And the ride home the easy way felt, in fact, delightfully easy.
Along the ride, I paid particular attention to the autumn signs around me. Remembering these days a favorite poem that I discovered a few years ago, talking about the real richness of fall—not in the leaves but in the seeds:
But trust my love—it is small, burr-coated, and tight.
It will stick to the bone. It will last through the autumn days.
Today, in addition to huffing and puffing up the hill, enjoying the beautiful view, thrilling to the kingfisher flying down river, saying hello to random horses pastured by the trail, and sharing the fellowship of community members on the trail, I was paying close attention to the myriad manifestations of “small, burr-coated, and tight” in the natural world around me—fluffy milkweed seeds, fallen acorns, heavy heads of seeded grass. I sat among some golden cottonwoods and imagined the life going on under the blanket of leaves, the filling of tiny larders for the coming winter.
And I learned, yet again, that in fact I can take a lovely pastime and make it better still.
Above, looking down the hill from the point I gave up the biking. Below, looking up the part of the hill that I then walked.
Above, from the top of the hill the Belle View of Bellvue--really just a cluster of houses in an agricultural area northwest of town. Maybe you can tell in this picture that all of the distant hilltops are burned from our June fire. Below, the pot of gold at the end of the hill.
Today's brunch was the veggie egg scramble with gluten-free toast and a triple berry Italian soda.
Above, scenery around Bellvue. Below, the easy ride home on the Poudre Trail.