On the way into town today leaves fluttered from trees and floated across the road in windy disarray. So many barren branches compared to just a week ago. Now that clocks have been turned back, the extra few minutes of morning light are welcome, but evening sunsets are too early. It’s hard to steel myself to face twilight before I’ve even had my dinner.
As we whizzed past winter-readied fields I thought of our own gardens with their mushy hostas and wilted lily spears, faded hydrangea blooms and brittle astilbe feathers. I’ve ignored the fall cleanup process in favour of NaNoWriMo writing. I’ll be sorry next spring when new growth struggles to emerge from under the debris.
Colour still haunts the few leaves clinging to our blueberry bushes, but the lilac shrubs are bare. There is melancholy in late fall – regret for the passing of another season – but it is tempered with the promise that after winter’s hiatus the cycle will begin again.
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.
(I Chronicles 16:34)