So much of the abundant wildness of Summer has flown south or died back to the ground, leaving shades of brown and gray, a small, bright spark of a blackberry leaf or the fruit of Highbush Cranberry or an occasional bright green pasture.
Even the flat light of a gray day—of which there are many this time of year—simplifies seeing what is left.
When the sun shines, low in the sky for another six weeks, it sometimes blinds and other times beautifully backlights the world and, of course, feels so warm as to be a constant reminder it is the source of all life energy.
The colors of late Fall are a place from which I can look backward and forward, a flat stone in the middle of life’s stream, a slow, quiet spot of affirmation. And a place from which I am able to remember that love is what life is about, rather than the insanity that seems so overwhelming at times.