Last Light Lingering
Fall refusing politely
We took our time getting home, stretching the last good miles like taffy. Two extra nights to ease ourselves toward Missoula winter, that frozen tundra waiting patiently with its long face and earlier bedtimes. First stop was Deschutes River State Recreation Area, the kind of spot that makes you feel smug for getting there first. River right there. Grill fired up. One last burger night and a beer that tasted like closure. The sky leaned back and put on a show, rays fanning out like it knew the assignment. I kept wondering if this was the final fall day of 2025, the last evening before the door quietly shuts.
Meanwhile, this year my body decided to remix itself without asking. Less spry, more grumble. I catch my reflection and think, who invited that guy. Somehow I am standing next to a woman who looks like she wandered in from a movie set, smiling like she means it. The only versions of me I like lately are the watercolor ones, painted by other hands. Soft edges. Forgiving light. Turns out I am easier to accept when rendered in pigment and paper. That feels strange. Also honest.
By the time we said goodbye to the river, the decision had already been made. Goodbye to water that still moves. To grass you can see. To hills without snow. To sunsets you can sit with instead of racing against the cold. Goodbye, Shoots River. Goodbye, 2025. The trip did what it was supposed to do. It reminded me that endings do not erase what worked. They just frame it.