It was the weekend. I did not have to work. Plus, I had another couple of days off. So, as is usual, we pile into the car and head off to Ole Rickety. Ole Rickety is an old farm house out in the country, in a small town three hours outside of the city. It sits on a wide open space in the shadows of twin maple trees with pine trees off to its sides. To the back of Ole Rickety is a creek, some who have visited say, “this is no creek, it’s a river!”
It is melodious, and can be thunderous at times. The water runs swiftly and it is cold. Miniature waterfalls and rapids abound and it is calming. Access to the creek requires climbing down stadium-seating boulders. So there is always a good spot to sit and be mesmerized by its show.
Here, one can perfect the art of doing nothing. It is a country place that is great for getaways fit for rejuvenation of the soul, and for getting lost in a book and climbing onto its pages. It is a place for re-discovering yourself, hearing yourself think and for sleeping like you slept before you had responsibilities.
The true country experience starts with the journey. The ride up from the city is therapeutic in itself. The country route lends itself to breathtaking mountain views. The interplay between soaring mountain peaks and deep valleys are the stuff postcards are made of. Throughout the journey, there are wide open spaces with old farm houses sporting long- abandoned grain silos. It is very picturesque.
The Fall is my favorite time of year. On arrival, and on exiting the car, the cool crisp air of the mountains is filled with the smells from wood burning fireplaces. Nature’s Fall colors are in full regalia. It’s heady and intoxicating! A shutter bugs dream!
I wrote this a while ago, thought I would recycle it for dVerse Poetic prompt.