I love this time of year. As I cruised the backroads this evening, the
splendor of autumn was glorious. Though many--most?--of the leaves have
fallen, the burnt orange, especially, have refused to give in and
abandon their posts. The pin oaks as well--red as fire--are holding on
to their loveliness. They, usually, hold on til spring--fade to
brown--but refuse to yield their grip on the limbs until the new buds
jettison them to the earth below. Life conquering death. The
burning bush are everywhere as well. Morrow County is afire. A touch
of yellow here, a bronze dogwood there, and, of course, the pines, firs,
and spruce of every shape and size and kind stand boldly refusing to
blush at the cold's onslaught. I even love the bareness of the leafless
trees. Are they not a promise of new life, of fruit in its season, of
the glories that follow the winters of life?
And the pastures are
still full. Black Angus congregating around the stacks of hay but still
feeding on the green grasses. Who can blame them? And I always love
the one who seems to be a hermit cow, refusing to join the
group--content to stand off by itself--comfortable with its solitude. My
favorite flock is the sheep with its one slate gray, beautiful member.
His distinctiveness in the sea of white makes him stand out--a stunning
beauty in the still green meadow.
My favorite thing this time of
year--as you may know--is the return of the expanse. Some fields have
their corn stubble. Some have been plowed again--the brown and black
clods with a signature stark beauty and promise of their own. Some
fields have been replanted with something--new green meadows are rising
to the sky. And the skies of autumn! Tonight, mountains of gray clouds
with the fire of a sunset glowing behind them, silhouetting them with
golden trim. But it's the openness I love the most. The contours of
the land have returned. The gently sloping hills under the corn and soy
beans are now free to reach into the horizon and the heavens. The
stands of trees, too, have opened up--you can see the light playing in
the shadows. A dappled darkness where once only dark prevailed and
sight was useless. Houses and barns on the far side of the fields have
reappeared as well. White and red and brown and gray. Added
touches--props--to the beauty of a country open again to the sky. The
world is bigger! And yet, it seems more intimate. I have no doubt that I
could walk the hills and touch the sky on the horizon. Play among the
clouds. I have no doubt that I could walk through the trees and find
myself in the light of the meadow that's been hiding on the other side.
And the human structures seem to be as touchable as the picturesque
backgrounds in a new painting. Ah, autumn. thy beauty is a wondrous
gift. And full of promise
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