I left my pale blue scarf in the Whiskey Jar downtown. How many of my scarves will restaurants in that town take from me? I suppose I should be happy that it was as gentle with me as it was as I skittered around the outskirts. The winery ruins were beautiful by moonlight. I didn't dance at the wedding; I hung on the wall and swished my long dress around barrels and tables, drank glasses of strawberry-colored sparkling wine. In the morning, I walked around Whole Food with this idea that I wanted something, but I wouldn't know it until I saw it, and not finding it, I frantically bought coffee, pieces of cheese, fancy fresh squeezed orange juice and then rushed home across the mountain. The woods were waiting for me: dark and golden and fragrant. I walked through stands of hickory, pine groves, and finally old, twisted cedar. 

And now, I'm supposed to be packing but instead I'll go for a long run. I have a busy afternoon of meetings and more vet shit and then finally I can put on my apron and make one last nice meal before I leave my kitchen for the foreseeable future.