Each Day Another Day

How long does it take for a new beginning? How much time to erase the puzzle board or smooth one's hand over a new unmarked white sheet, or clear the echoing sounds from the air? I am relying on 24 hours. A fresh, new, sun grinning as it breaks over the horizon and pushes the cool morning breeze across the marsh grasses racing out to the ocean playing with your hair on the way.  

Another chance has been tossed at your feet with each new wave.  A puzzle of pieces that will fit together...somehow.

Limitless possibilities await on the far horizon even though they may be camouflaged to your eyes in the beginning.  The smell of salt stimulates thought to add spice to the excitement of a renewed perspective.  But as ever with Mother Earth, you are not alone for long.

If he can strut his stuff so bravely, so can you!

The Prodigal Sun

The end of autumn is like gazing at the mouth of a dark, long cave on the path ahead. Realizing that you must take shelter, yet fearing you will lose your way and never see the light of day again, you hesitate moving decisively. For months all will be gray and bumpy and filled with a dying slumber. As an elder, we do not like to see dying all around us.  

We work at creating  an artificial stasis of  warmth and light while waiting for the sun  to return and favor us.  We get a bit of joy from the call of the geese at midnight on the water.  They are like  old women arguing over laundry or ripe fruit at the market.  We smile, because  it  is  their energy that  reminds us that life goes on in spite of the dark and cold.  They are a trill of silliness.

In the damp gray morning, we feel a  soulfuless gazing into the  chocolate eyes of the  doe as she studies the edge of our woods with  snow across her nose and with ears angled listening for life.  

Ahead on trail  is a conifer with a low  branch.  We inhale the green of needles pressed between our gloved hands and think of spring.

Winter is  that slow part of the symphony where we can just barely hear the drum and the fade of the string instruments that causes us to lean in.  Then there is the quiet pause, longer than a fermata, which makes us hold our breath, and just when we  must gasp, the sun laughs over the horizon.  Miss me?

She is Pretending

The change in the seasons into autumn pretends that it is going to be just gray and brown with a shroud of wet cold. It is as if Mother Nature is afraid you will be disappointed in the grand finale.  You were expecting the change of jewel tones in the 30F degree air? Go back inside and wait. Every year (and I have seen over 70) the fall comes with a quick or extended late-season surprise.  But it never disappoints.

There is no more

As I sit at my computer the day is gray and cold. It started with rain and that has now turned to sleet with a promise of a dusting of snow as we go into darkness tonight. It is heavy and wet and not at all inviting as perfect snow would be. It is the kind of weather that one ignores and turns to a Scottish murder mystery on the television. I am going to ignore it and share what it looked like just a few days ago: this was our lovely fall and sadly it is disappearing as I type this post. While the leaves are still on the trees they are changing to darker red and grays.

Fall In Painting

The trees have mostly shed all of their jeweled leaves, but there are still enough colors to make a watery painting of the sentinels that stand in my front yard. Enjoy while it lasts.

Look Around

The sun has moved far to the left as fall arrives. I can follow the seasons by watching where it sets. Now it sets behind a different set of trees that are on the other side of our little finger of the river. It sets early enough that I can hurry down with my camera and see if the clouds are good for a sunset photo. (Yes, I have thousands!) I just have to be sure to dress warmly so that I do not shake! I caught this one below a few nights ago.

I was so focused on the sunset that it was not until I turned back toward the dock I noticed a perfectly glowing fall photo of the shoreline. I must learn to be more observant.

Adieu

 

I hurried out yesterday in the beautiful fall afternoon, and after filling the bird feeders, I decided to cut the last of the mums and roses and bring inside before the frost this weekend. Saying goodbye to summer.