These days, the halcyon days of early fall, when the air shifts, the heat lowers, the shadows lengthen, and we are home for a few weeks before the next trip, are simple. We are home.
The time is 7:19 p.m. and I am sitting on our couch, sipping wine, listening to the crickets outside our window. The air is deliciously cool and I’ve just got out of the tub, my hair still wet. I haven’t turned the lights on yet, preferring to watch the night fall.
The past few days have been delicious. I’ve been to the Dairy Arts Center and dinner with a new friend and we sat outside on the patio of a local Mexican restaurant talking like we had known one another for a long time. Yesterday, Rob and I called it quits for work early in the afternoon, went for a bike ride on our gravel bikes and then came home and took the motorcycle into the mountains. The night was soft and sweet, with that lovely crisp air that arrives with September evenings. We finished the evening at Strade Bianchi, an Italian restaurant on Pearl Street that filled our bellies with wine and pasta and salad, reminiscing about our honeymoon in Pienza and how the simple things in our travels are the things we have not forgotten.
This morning we went to the farmers market before breakfast at Moe’s, and I enjoyed a bagel with eggs, bacon, spinach, cheese and tomatoes. Then we packed the tandem in the car and headed to the mountains again to ride the bike along Peak to Peak. The climbs were tough for me, but we did them and the road was lovely in slow motion.
After our ride, I drank a latte at Salto in Nederland before we walked Pearl Street, enjoying the Art Festival. And now I sit on the couch in a dark room, clean and tired, while my husband makes tortilla chips for us to enjoy.
We are home.
