yellow leaves

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.

- J. R. R. Tolkien

I took these before the rainfall, before the wind swept through and emptied the trees. I took these for proof. Proof that I am here to witness another season.

***

empty

The empty swing set reminds us of this--
that bad won't be bad forever,
and what is good can sometimes last
a long, long time.

- Jacqueline Woodson

I stop on my way home, just for a few minutes of quiet.

***

ready for the storm

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

— Haruki Murakami

The storm arrives unannounced, and I am ready with all the right gear. I sit alone, allowing all the feelings to have their say.
Then I get up, take a few deep breaths, and walk back into my life.

***

just another thursday

“And, above all, becoming a grandparent offers a chance to love in a different way, a love without the thorny crown of self-interest.
I wish I could say I loved my children that way, but it wouldn’t be true, and it wouldn’t be true of anyone I know, either.”

― Anna Quindlen, Nanaville: Adventures in Grandparenting

He comes to play, as he always does, on Thursday. He is full of ideas and opinions about how we might spend the day. He and Grandpa play knights and dragons, and I get down on the floor with him to work on the city he is creating in the living room with wooden blocks. After lunch we head outside to rake leaves. The sun is out and it is a perfect autumn day. He and Grandpa rake the same piles over and over. Grandpa always willing to re-rake the piles so he can stomp through them. I watch as the two of them finely scoop the leaves up and put them into the large yard bags. As late afternoon sets in I feel a chill in the air and do my best to heard them inside for a snack. We do a bit of clean up, and get ready to go meet his parent’s for dinner. I am tired, ready to hand him over, but also overflowing with love, knowing I will miss him as soon as we part ways.

***


the garden

"Everything that slows us down and forces patience,
everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help.
Gardening is an instrument of grace."

-May Sarton

I spend a few hours in the yard today. I cut back perennials and rake leaves. The earth smells like apples, and a freshness I can’t quite put my finger on, a sort of memory I suppose.. The soil is dark and wet, and some of the flowers release themselves with just a tug, their leaves brown and shriveled. Others demand to be snipped with my clippers. There is more to be done, but I don’t push myself as I am not quite ready to let the garden go.

***