I’m listening to the wind as it blows around and through the branches of trees. The painted autumn leaves cling or float their last whirling frolic to the ground.
I hike through heaps of them, shuffling and twirling with my own kind of jig. The smells of earth and the glimmer of sunlight fills me up with a contentment I’ll package carefully in my mind and heart. A gift to easily unwrap when I need a re-charge.
The lakes still shimmer, lapping gently or rocking at the shore, undaunted with the up-coming ritual of freezing and becoming hard and strong enough to hold up tiny villages through the winter. How amazing is that?
I notice, too, daylight is dimming. I will miss the early sunrise and late sunset. There’s something special being up early – at the crack of dawn – to welcome the gift of the day. So, now it’s embracing s-l-o-w-i-n-g down and acknowledging the pause Mother Nature provides for herself, is also a good thing for me. She does it better than I do, but I continue to try to learn from the example she gives me.
Autumn is a miracle presenting weeks and weeks of sparkle. Every year it bestows a wonderment that is best experienced than described. It’s the little things … one tiny leaf … and another … and another … creation and beauty combined … we just have to open our eyes, our ears, smell the scents and our Spirit beams in recognition. A miracle, indeed.
Photo’s taken by me at the Northland Arboretum.
Deb Endres 