Glen Ellen, California
This afternoon in Sonoma County
“But at the time of transition, your guides, your guardian angels, people whom you have loved and who have passed on before you, will be there to help you. We have verified this beyond a shadow of a doubt, and I say this as a scientist. There will always be someone to help you with this transition.”
This afternoon, my sister drove us through the vineyards, horse ranches, and farms towards the Sonoma Valley. I watched out the window as we passed by trees changing their colors, the vineyards turning orange to ruby red, and the horses grazing emerald green grasses, their coats full and thick from the colder weather. I felt Scott with me following the same roads we had explored through the short years we were together.
On the road with my sister, I remembered a side road along the way, a farm stand, where Scott pulled over for me to hop out to see what farm fresh goodies the vineyard owner had left at her "honor system" table set out in front of the property. I gathered a jam, a honey, a few berries, and fresh baked sourdough bread. On the way, I pulled apart the warm bread, handing Scott pieces as he drove us home. We practically finished off the loaf before we reached home. I still remember the taste of yeast and flour so fragrant, the crunch of the bread and the soft middle.
When we lived in Sonoma County, whether we worked that day or not, we hit the back roads everyday no matter the season or weather. We never stayed home. We loved finding what was around each corner.
At the crossroads we passed the thoroughbred horse farm, my sister turned towards the town of Glen Ellen. She asked me to take photos for a project she was working on. Her request gave me something to focus on. In Glen Ellen, we walked by an area with trees covered in green moss, a rain saturated creek spilling over stones, and sparkling lights around the semi closed restaurants reminding me of cozy frosty winter meals, wood fires, hearty meals and sips of port at the end of dinner (Scott and I loved our port) with family and friends over the years.
After taking the photos, we headed back through the burn areas of recent fires. I watched as a hawk flew through the black Angus cattle pasture swooping up to a tree, missing her hunt.
We continued on the road, heading home.
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly – that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”