Jetlag has a peculiar way of rearranging one’s schedule. It was 4 a.m., and there I was, wide awake, having been stirred from slumber at 2:30. Not having spent much time doing anything domestic while on my travels, the kitchen beckoned. Before I knew it, flour, sugar, and butter were sprawled across the island, with my hands deep in a bowl of flour, sugar and butter, crumbling butter into pea-sized morsels.

Doesn’t everyone bake scones at 4am?

Thankfully, my journey home had been uneventful — truly the best kind of flight.

Upon landing, my beloved was waiting, with our imitable Sheepadoodle, Beaumont, peeking out from the backseat. We were en route to a Thanksgiving dinner with dear friends; a quick stop at home wasn’t on the agenda.

I held onto my wakefulness as long as I could, staying alert till 7 p.m. — or what felt like 2 a.m. back in Dublin. But then, sleep’s sweet lure proved irresistible. A brief hour-long nap on a sofa later, I tried to rally, but by 9:30 p.m., I was soundly asleep in my bed.

Ahhh, the sweet comfort of one’s own bed and surroundings!

However, the early hours found me awake again.

Though an unconventional choice, baking seemed fitting. After all, I couldn’t very well unpack or start laundry, not with Beaumont and C.C. peacefully asleep beside me.

Post my baking escapade, I snatched a few more precious hours of sleep and, when morning broke, Beaumont and I headed out to wander the paths along along the riverbank, the landscape painted with the fiery hues of autumn.

The season of long shadows is upon us. The sun barely grazes the horizon, as though even it yearns for winter’s rest. The mornings greet us with a cool embrace, but by midday, warmth seeps in.

This is a time for introspection, for prepping home and soul for the impending icy gusts of a prairie winter.

For now, I cherish my walks by the river. Though its name might not resonate with the historical echoes of the Liffey, its melody is just as enchanting.

It’s the thing about rivers, no matter where in the world you go, the poetry of the river flows freely.