"I love to wander through the woodlands hoary
In the soft light of an autumnal day"
I seem to be all caught up in the glory of autumn. I am trying to cloak myself in the warmth and richness of all that this season has to offer before the bare threads of winter are woven my way. Sunny days with crisp blue skies have been scant. We are experiencing a soggy autumn. However, yesterday was bright and cheery, with a hint of warmth in the winds. I took advantage of the opportunity late in the afternoon to crunch about the new carpeting of leaves here at the Quill.
Everything beyond my door stoop is cloaked in autumnal glory. The trees were in a talkative mood and offered up their sacred story. They invited me to sit awhile... to observe, listen, and learn from their sage advice. Clearing their throats with a rattling clatter they whispered on the wind, excitedly gesturing as they swayed, quivering with emphasis, showering me with leaflets speaking of their seasoned lives.
A few brave trees were trying to hang onto their vestiges of summer greenery like some try and hang on to their youth, clinging, yet painfully aware of the passing time and seasons with the inability to stop the inevitable... Others were giving up the bounty of their beauty most freely, accepting their fading and imperfections as badges of honor, sharing the wisdom of their ages, offering up the fruit of their experience, emptying themselves effortlessly to embrace the seasons yet to come...Some embraced their scars earned through the ages by flinging their arms wide open to cradle and nurture others, housing them in the shelter of their bosom... These delight in handing out little nuggets of truth to the fledglings that fly their way, assuring them that all is not what it seems... They were young once too with hopes and dreams and wishes...The path to maturity did indeed get murky at times...There were days when they felt a mere shadow of their former selves... Where their usefulness felt spent, crisp, brown, dried up, barren and exposed for all to trample upon... They stood stoically around me, deeply rooted in thought, as I listened to them breathe... Remembering when unwanted things crept up on them... Joints that began to creak and bend in unwelcome ways... Oh, how some of them longed for those golden halcyon days... Those with a brighter countenance lifted up their arms in praise for each and every one of those golden weeks...crimson months...apricot years...saffron seasons...and dappled days... They dropped at my feet a little nugget of truth... True beauty is not found in youth, where skin is flawless and bodies show no effects of aging. True beauty is found in the taking of joy in living. It is mirrored in the eyes, a reflection of what is in the heart. True beauty is a beauty of the soul and it far outshines the exterior of the package it comes in. Every season has its pleasures, spring may boast of its flowery prime, yet the ruby treasures that brighten autumn, what fruitfulness is on the vine of time. The dear season of autumn with its blessings take not away but add to depth and hue of beauty, "it fills the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape lays as if new, created in all freshness of childhood"(Longfellow ~ Evangeline), that beautiful still useful season of life.
These are things the trees whispered to me, that, "Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days." (Will Carleton ~ Autumn Days)
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