Getting On With It

Quite wonderful it is, to feel as well as I do, now. My second week of Shingles is not quite over, but I am much improved. My husband, looking at me approvingly, congratulates me that I no longer pose a risk to peoples' credulity, having to square their familiarity with my face, with the one most latterly presented. There should, indeed, be a law against presenting such a face in public. Despite which, I soldiered on, as best I could, despite the aching pain, and hid as much of my temporarily-demented facial features as I was able to.

No longer necessary! The itch and the aching hurt are still there, but much diminished. The crashing, stabbing pains and the pounding headaches have departed. One supposes had I not been prescribed medication the process would have been far worse in the sense of lingering on indefinitely before ultimately subsiding. That is, also, if the condition did not deteriorate to such a stage where some actual long-lasting damage was done to me neurologically, including my optic nerves.

On to better things...! The ravine, for example, tempting us with its fall colours. We even enjoyed some sun today, along with the wind and the cool temperatures. Last night's deeper frost loosed many leaves, both in our gardens and in our urban forest. Our mulberry trees suddenly dumped a load of leaves; where yesterday they were pliable and green, well fastened still, to the branches that held them. And in the backyard, those garden pots that still awaited winter-readiness suddenly hosted wet, limp flower stalks, with the formerly-vibrant colours completely drained, dank.

In the ravine, however, the rustle of the brightly-coloured leaves under our feet, and the acrid fragrance of the tannin, wafted around us. A fragrance well-remembered, yet easily forgotten. We saw a cluster of three small downy woodpeckers, busily working their way around three trees, spaced fairly close together, and ventured the opinion that we had come across a little family out for a little casual nourishment.

There were chickadees, and their constant companions, nuthatches chattering away in the trees around us. The squirrels, as usual, awaited our arrival with something less than bated breath. And although we so enjoy seeing them all, only one, our little stumpy-tailed black squirrel that has endeared itself to us, causes us to feel excited at his approach. Nothing tentative about this little fellow. He knows what we're about and is intent on having his share. Confronting us directly, waiting, positioning himself, until the special peanuts - the largest, fattest, those containing three to four nuts, are scattered before him.

If we give him shelled peanuts, he will eat them before us. Once the unshelled ones come his way, he locates them, claims them and is off. On more than one occasion he will have confronted us for his due near the bottom of the first hill in the ravine, and then again, far along the course, when we're away off on an entirely other part of the loop, for seconds. He really does make our day, that bold little fellow.