Nov. 03, 2001 ~ A Brigadoon morning
There is something surreal and fairy-like about our home, in the mornings. Something about the lay of the land seems to encourage the formation of mist in the low places and on the ponds. At the moment I can look out my window and see only to the edge of our yard. The cows are just beyond, and the horses are already up and rarin' to go, neighing for their breakfasts. In a minute, babies, in a minute.
We live in the house on the hill. I had to practice saying this. Over the years, when I've tried to explain to people where we live, they will usually interrupt me to say, "Oh, you must live in the house on the hill!" What I want to say is, "Well, no, not really. It's more of a rise than a hill. The house is at the base of a hill, though, and our property goes to the top of that hill. Everybody calls it a mountain, you know, but it's not all that high." I used to issue all those disclaimers, but now I've learned to just smile and keep my mouth shut. The correct response to the "house on the hill" question? "Yes." And in giving directions to law-enforcement types (usually about stray cattle or horses) I've learned to say the name of the mountain so they will know where we are. I say it and don't argue about it's mountain-ness or hill-ness. I didn't name it. I didn't decide it was a mountain. I take no responsibility for it. But... that's where we live.
So we have this MOUNTAIN behind us and it often disappears in the mist. My mind wanders, and I imagine mythical kingdoms, earlier times, just beyond the edges of the mist. What's out there? I don't know. Trees, no doubt. Lots of cows. But in my imagination?
Brigadoon.
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