Now about the Saturday at the Mountain… it was positively a trial, and a confirmation that my own appreciation of occasional physical exertion, is usually something that happens after the fact. We literally hiked over 9 kilometers, up to the top and down, and I'll admit I am always ashamed at my lack of physical prowess. I have asthma and so as I said, I have no cardiovascular capacity whatsoever, and it was a trek, really a trek, and I did make it up and down that hill, but it was at times a painful exercise, though I am incredibly proud of myself. (I am also amazed that I still had an active day the next day– resilience just took on a whole new meaning for me.)
But the colors of the fall were beautiful, and at times it was like walking a Golden Path, and that made me think that Herbert's golden path was also one that included pain for the greater good. But what was wonderful about my occasional lapse in ability to breathe was that I was left somewhat to myself at the end of the trek, and I took it slowly and painfully, but I also had often times the sentiment of being in a world of dreams, or in an enchanted forest. The token leaf tree is the maple, (duh) and it has the remarkable trait that the leaves are wonderfully vivid, crimsons and rusts, and golden yellows and burning oranges, and strangely there was moss every where that was a bright green, and rocks that reminded me of malachite. As one goes up the hill, there are aged maple trees that create a natural step for the climber, and they seem to be almost alive, and their tortuous shapes are rather otherworldly, eerie, and full of what I can only describe as spirit.
Then of course there was the pleasure of the company, there were four of us, R. and her new boyfriend, and S., whom I hadn't seen in three years because she is now an architect in Boston. It was a rambunctious reunion, and lots of reminiscing, teasing, and gossiping, and catching up, because us three girls put together would drive any male insane, I think, for all our childish chatter. Of course, we've known each other for over 15 years, and so basically we turn to children when we hook up again.
Sunday was spent at the Museum of Fine Arts with S. (I guess R. and her male were in need of time alone) and we had a fun time revisiting the permanent collection which I know by heart. Of course, since my last visit, there were changes, and I was appalled that they moved Picasso's "Embrace" to the basement, and very glad that Octobre was still in place. In the process I noticed a new Renoir, though it's not a very remarkable piece. I did reunite happily with Henri-Joseph Harpignie's "Clair de Lune" which I adore, because I love the way he treated the light and the perspective, even if most people I showed it to found that it was… ordinary. (Heathens!)
We also went to the bookstore, just a large bookstore, and it was a complete catastrophe for my wallet, but I am beyond pleased because I bought new books, including Faber's The Crimson Petal and the White. I'm in love, Faber has me captivated from the second sentence – the only thing I can say for now is that it is beyond promising. I also replenished my supply of music with Debussy, Chopin, Rachmaninov and the Requiem. It was a complete heresy that I didn't have the Requiem anymore in my collection. So I am broke, but happy, ha ha. And that was concluded with a walk downtown with coffee in hand, and it was a complete caricature of Sex & the City, because S. and I were discussing relationships, after a day at the museum and book shopping, in a completely North-American city.The Beaver
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !