Autumn days

The tumbling, rushing water dives over a rocky ledge and into a dark pool. There is a flash of silver as a fish darts from the shadows to the safety of cover beneath submerged rocks. Under the brilliant blue sky, the clear water beckons, enticing. But the fresh, sharp air hints at its frigid cold. And away from the main flow quiet, clear pools are encased in petals of feathery ice, visible only on the closest inspection. The hillside by the river is blanketed in a carpet of deep maroon and golden yellow brush. Dry underfoot, it releases a soft heathery smell. The baby’s sleeping body weighs heavily, slumped on my chest, as I crouch to search for berries amongst the small red leaves that decorate the spindly branches. He is hidden, warm beneath layers of down and fur, but with my face so close to his I can feel his soft breaths. The blueberries, hidden amongst the red leaves, are close to their final days, delicate, ready to be crushed under the most gentle pressure of my fingers, releasing their pungent sweetness and deep purple blood.

Back on the boat, the slowly sinking sun sheds golden light and long shadows across the shimmering bay, across the florid valley, across the snow sprinkled thinly on distant peaks. Waves slaps lazily on the hull. The baby, awake now, lies on the table beneath a makeshift mobile of spoons that swing in languid arcs, the plink of meeting metal prompting grabbing hands and bright, flickering eyes.

In the autumn night, the darkness is total. We two rock gently in our bed, the stars in the dark sky outside the cabin windows circling. When the heater shuts off for the night, the cold creeps in and we huddle deeper beneath the heavy duvet, drifting into leaden slumber. When his soft, bird-like call wakes me in the night, I open my eyes to a dark sky draped in shimmering green curtains of pale light, drifting. With eyes fixed shut, he feeds in his warm cocoon, while I watch the solar wind’s silent dance performed only for me.