To Everything There is a Season

 




The summer Adirondack chairs are stacked and ready for the shed.  They look lonely amidst the turning leaves, as though their usefulness has played out.






Their lazy comfort seems suddenly out of place in these new days of Autumn that were not meant for lounging barefoot in loose shorts and tee-shirts over tall glasses of iced tea, but for brisk walks in long sleeves, pants and warm socks and later, sipping cups of hot mulled cider.

 






When I see my old garden cart sitting vulnerably naked and empty of the soil and twigs and weeds it so selflessly hauled for me, I dream of pumpkin farms and hayrides, and long hikes in the woods.












Then I look down, and know it's all worth it --- that autumn is a time for reflection; a time to regroup and refresh.  A time where green meets its match -- but never its competition --  in orange, gold, red, and brown.

 

I grew up in a place where everything was always the same.  The seasons never changed.

I know now I could never go back to that. 

The sameness of it never filled my soul with whispered things, like the morning mist of the mountains.

 

I feel protected by the misty shroud.......like a woman hiding behind a veil -- 
needing to let go and brush the veil aside to see and be seen.  But waiting until 10:00 a.m.