Autumn...

What troubles me is that I feel I may not be able to write any longer into the season. I am in love with Spring blossom and the sound of birdsong outside of the window, as flecks of sunlight emerge slowly but efficaciously. But my thoughts only swell with the thaw and contract as the leaves on the trees lose that green color which for me is truly the language of life as I know it. It may perhaps occur to someone that blushing cheeks and the sweet effulgence of youth are the language that is best understood, but for myself those knotted oaks with their rich overhanging leaves and that perfect shelter and place of repose. I feel sometimes as though the branches were fingers and as the sun moves further away those branches shiver and remain bare and can no longer offer comfort. When all is seeking a sense of quiet and safety from the harshness of a long winter we move busily still seeking pleasure when it can be found in such simple solitude and reflection. And I will say it every year that passes by, that my mind does not wish to stay so long awake and so occupied by trivialities but it is asked to nonetheless. I do wonder why that is.