View From The Glen

Tuesday, October 23, 2012


I paused this morning. 

Faded jeans, steaming mug of coffee, and a moment of solitude. From the top of the stone steps, I see the curve of one garden, tumbled and full of faded beauty. See the tumbled rock wall that keeps the muted foliage of another garden from spilling out over the grass. One tree - a flowering crabapple, planted two springs ago - has lost all but three of its leaves and even as I stand there, one more flutters to the ground like a yellow butterfly. Other leaves, mostly maple, some poplar and oak, have started to fall and lie poetically scattered across the driveway and the steps of the veranda.

The golden and crimson splendour of Autumn's glory days has faded now to burnt ochre and orange and yellowing shades of copper, and in the austerity, there is something elemental and moving. And inspiring.

To pause is to breathe. There are days when we forget to really do that. Especially when we are busy.  September and October fly past in a blur of school and camping and work and activity, and in the race from out the door in the morning to tucked into bed at night, it is easy to forget to take some time to just stop and pay attention. 

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.         (George Eliot)

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