Nov 2—we were in Florida visiting
some very dear people last week, and when we returned home this past Wednesday the
evening of Halloween Day, I could almost believe what I was seeing… no, not a
witch or globin or a pirate or scary clown to be seen, but instead, a totally different view from what we had when we left, just a week before.
Every tree had been stripped off their lovely colors; not a single leaf remained on naked branches and pools of autumnal leaves were blowing off to unknown faraway places. Winter, had settled in. The neighborhood was lighted up in Halloween décor, and some of the houses were already decked in Christmas lights.
Every tree had been stripped off their lovely colors; not a single leaf remained on naked branches and pools of autumnal leaves were blowing off to unknown faraway places. Winter, had settled in. The neighborhood was lighted up in Halloween décor, and some of the houses were already decked in Christmas lights.
The following morning, I headed
out to the garden as soon as I woke up. With night
coming early, and dawn coming late, it was still dark outside, but I could tell
that the garden had begun its rest until next spring.
How beautiful, and strange, everything looked, and how solemn under the mysterious spell of the new month...
Pale amber sunlight started to fall across the thinning November
garden, and I noticed that the bitter-sweet melancholy of the year had settled
upon the land; as yellowish tints of light move along the garden’s floors, and scattered
shadows everywhere.
I let my head fall back, and I gazed into the morning sky--part of it pink, part lavender part pale blue. Small, fluffy clouds like cotton balls scuttled along in a wordless melody, of wonder and admiration. How beautiful; how very beautiful the garden looked beneath the sweet gentleness of the autumnal morning. I heard an angel say once that God wants our souls to be like the autumnal morning...
Some of the roses were still intact, as if frozen in time, or
frozen in past summer memories engraved in the apple of my eyes.
Petals mingled beautifully with autumnal leaves in the garden floors, like an assortment of jewels spilled from some magical coffer...
Oh, I don’t want time to pass; don’t want seasons to
hurry, roses to fade nor winter to wither all the loveliness remaining here; but
then again… ah yes! “Nature gives to every time and season unique beauty; from
morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it’s just a succession of
changes so soft and comfortable that we hardly notice the progress." — Charles
Dickens