The sun is shining brilliantly on red, orange and yellow leaves and I am lucky to view them in two directions from my favourite chair. This alone is enough to calm the soul and make one thankful for all we have but the autumn display is also the harbinger of a zen confluence of far greater magnificence. It is hunting season in Northern Ontario and the women-folk have been "abandoned" to their own devices.
Disclaimer: I know women who have bagged all manner of moose, deer and bear. They look forward to hunting season as excitedly as I, for different reasons. These are amazing women and I wish them well out there. I don't understand them but nor do I claim to know why some people like scrapbooking, running marathons or, heaven forbid, playing the bagpipes.
Never mind that hunting widows have been counting sleeps and mentally ticking days off calendars. Every year the weeks of preparatory guy phone calls, assembly point of all things camouflage and lethal and final exodus of trailers full of enough food, ATVs and alcohol to tax the sustainability of those tiny tires fill me with a delightful anticipatory thrum. Every year I find myself writing essentially the same blog about this most wonderful time. I can't help myself. It is my equivalent of the athletic airborne heel-click; the fist pump; the Facebook gush.
And what, you may ask, do I spend those precious days doing alone. In all honesty, not much. Except it is all about me. I get to finish sewing projects uninterrupted, read through mealtimes, watch girlie television (thank-you Netflix) to my heart's content and dine on the culinary delights of smoothies for breakfast, creative salads for lunch, popcorn and ice cream for dinner. I've been known to rip apart an entire room, paint it and get it back together before he gets back home. It is always interesting to see how long it takes him to notice the change in colour.
So wish me well in my solitude. I may be alone but I am never lonely.
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