Seasons change.. The winter blows in from the north, the sky turns from a bright warm yellow to a gray haze. The clouds are not so far away, and they linger a little longer hovering over head, casting a shade over creation, giving it a foreshadowing of things to come, they are proclaiming a time of change has come..
There is a chill in the air. Our breath is now seen as it comes forth in a cloud into the crisp air. There is a warmth from within that the cold tries to steal. The fight is seen with each breath and word spoken. We want to hold on to the warmth so we add more layers. We are wearing thicker clothes, noticing more sweaters as I look around. Scarves now are not just for embellishment or color, but for the insulation of what is inside. What is in the inside? What is it we are protecting? Concealing?
The color around me is changing. The green leaves turn to a yellow golden flake against the hues of blue in the sky. Red is added by the Creator to give the picture that something poetic is happening, and it color is a new verse in the poem. The poem reaches the climax as each of the verses fall to earth, floating through the night air. As the Creator breathed the next breath on them giving the earth, the ground, a new covering, a thicker garment.. The leaves wrap around the trunk of the trees like s scarf. They cover the ground like a warm winter blanket to shield from the new crisp air.
I put on my orange coat.. It’s big, fluffy, and warm. I feel like The Great Pumpkin walking down the leaf covered sidewalks. My scarf is wrapped around my neck.. I look up… The sky is changing. Clouds are moving in. I can tell change is inevitable. I can feel the grip of fall losing its hold just as did summer did.. It fights to hold on..
Few leaves remain on the trees. The color has diminished and the gloom of winter is showing on each branch as it lays bare, showing that it cannot hold on to what was. (Nor can I..) There are a few leaves dangling as if they are holding on by a thread of hope, but soon they too will flutter to the ground and the echo of their fall willnot be heard by all. The weight they bare is not felt. The hope they carry is not cherished, they will soon be crumbled under foot by each person treading by.
I will watch where I step.. I will look up to see those who are still hanging on. I will wrap up in layers to protect the warmth that is inside of me. I will conceal the harshness of the effects that the change of seasons have on me. The wind blows cold across the leaves of my memories, and each memory, each leaf, is another burning bush that is extinguished. Each leaf, trying to hold on to the tree of what was.. Each memory trying to be preserved for the future, but fall has come. The memories are falling off the tree. The connections of the past are being broken. The Creator is breathing His breath in a New Poem of my life and my leaves are showing the marks of a winter that is coming… And is now here..
As each connection is lost. Each leaf that falls.. Another person.. Another memory ..fades off the tree. Those I try to hold on to cannot withstand the next verse that is being spoken by the great Poet. The tree stands bare. Those that see it forget what it looked like when it was in full bloom, radiant with life and color. Pedestrians walking across the fallen memories crushing what was once vibrant and beautiful. They are not fully understanding the change, but seeing it as a bother, or an eye soar that needs to be cleaned up. Fall is Messy.. .Winter is cold, and sometimes harsh..
Seasons have a purpose. Things that were once alive, either wither and die, or hibernate.. To give way to what will come in the spring. Out of the dead of winter comes life, in its time. A New Life.. New Growth..
Dear Diary, Winter is here.. I am covering up what is warm inside me. I will walk past the once beautiful trees that now look lifeless, and I will reflect on the change of seasons the Creator brings. I will try not to take the fallen leaves for granted, nor crush them uncaringly under my weight. I know they have purpose. I know they served the tree well.. There is life still inside this trunk of mine, and life still flows thru the branches, but even as I stand naked and barren, and somewhat ashamed, I know this lifeless looking tree will bloom again. I know this season is just what it is, A Season..