After our trip north, I spent a few days recuperating. Bags to unpack. Piles of laundry. A bit of a cold. Exhaustion from all the aforementioned. Everyday I told my kids that we were going to go to the beach. The light outside my windows beckoned. And yet four days passed with me venturing out very little. I would hear the kids playing beyond the closed windows, but I didn't join in.
Friday afternoon I finally got myself straight. We explored our familiar coastline. We did those things we do every season, crawling over fallen logs, inching across dirty bay sand, wielding sticks as swords, soaking in the air and sun on the bits of expsoed skin.
The next day we drove to Claire and Andrew's to meet a new cousin-in-law, to engage in some old fashion acorn wars, to roam fields, to feed ducks and collect their eggs.
By the time I came home from a mushroom foraging workshop on Sunday, I felt like my reserves had been restored. October had soaked into my core, leaving me with the contentment coupled with nostalgia the season brings.