Vermont air is the freshest of all the states’, to be
sure. Not that I have had the
privildge of visiting them all, however I daresay I would be of this mindset
even if I was born in the Green Mountain state and never stepped foot outside
of its boundaries. I suck in deep
and my breath catches, not from the preverbal cold I cannot seem to shake, but
from the crisp air floating in through the open second-story window of my
townhouse rental overlooking Vermont’s highest peak. With Little Milk Breath on my lap, we relax on the leather
couch in front of the fireplace, not the least bit upset that the Pride and
Prejudice dvd is stuck and skipping through scenes at random without
sound. The view of the
unadulterated soft mountain dotted by every shade of autumn imaginable,
combined with the quiet (minus the hum of the clothes tumbling in the dryer)
can be summed up in one lovely word: vacation. The two and a half day hietus from countryside suburbia has
not turned out the way Andy nor I envisioned, yet through the headcolds, rain
& unprecedented 4 year old tantrums we have come to the realization that
this IS a relaxing trip. I will be
sad to leave the alpine luxury I have come to enjoy oh so quickly, to return to
a demanding household and my random small-scale projects and commitments, so I
just won’t think about driving westward just yet. I shall go
reheat my bbq chicken pizza, wrap a warm quilt around the baby, sit out on the
balcony, and take a few more deep breaths of organic Vermont air.
