I've taken to calling this the Mother Tree. It's not a particularly big tree, nor is it wide or imposing. It's not even the oldest in the forest.

I like it the most out of all the trees in this particular wood because it's bathed in light at all times of the day. In the mornings its leaves form a bright crown. In the evenings the sun is softened into a glow. It's a beacon. It would be the one tree where as a child playing tag one of your rules would be, "You're safe at the Mother Tree." It would be the tree I'd pause at, to stretch before a run. It would be the marker for me to stop too, on the way back from said run.

It's got vines all over it. Vines are such lovely parasites, don't you think?

Some days ago we found upturned soil all around the base of the Mother Tree. We think it's sangliers, wild boars, rooting around for god knows what. Acorns? Are acorns tasty wild boar food? I can't imagine it's truffles, I don't think we're in a truffle kind of wood. We're in a climbing kind of wood.

We spent most of September and all of October working the routes at le Grozeau. In general, French climbers are known for their climbing style, their great footwork. This cliff, Mon Elle du Desir, gave us good practice. Stick your toe into the slightest indentation; don't worry, it'll hold. Or try that mossy nubbin there. Or that bit of crumbly ledge. Yes, it'll hold if you believe in your feet. We did 16 of the 19 routes before the rain and the winds came. And now? It's cold and wet. Oh, for some sun!

Frank. Walking ahead because I'm always stopping to take pictures of the light, or to look at a random mushroom, or to think about the wild boars' upturning the soil on the path. He's unaware of the giant maple leaves I've stuck in the loops of his backpack. He's unaware of my hidden smiles.

The trail to le Grozeau, popular with both hikers and climbers. No wonder. Fifty meters in and you feel like you're the only person in the world. Quiet. Serene. Columns of regal pines and oaks, passing time as idly as us. The light filtered through the leaves and needles in glorious shades of gold. Golden. Just the way we like it.

(An art teacher of mine once said that West Coast light is very stark and bright; East Coast light is softer and has more variations. It's a generalization, but we were referring to my rather awful still lifes. She was very kind, Kate. I may have saved a couple of canvases, but for the most part I've left painting to my talented husband.)

1: The Boston Globe's wonderful photo blog, The Big Picture, is one of my latest subscriptions. Today's post is Scenes from Antarctica.

2: A Good graphic explaining the economy. I like this a lot. I think anything can be better explained with an excellent illustration or chart.

3: My Knitting Patterns page. Of course it's blogworthy. If you knit.