Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor,
summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.
~Stanley Horowitz
The calendar tells us we are nearing the end of autumn, the third season of the year. That fall feeling still lingers in the air. Yellow, amber and red leaves flutter to the ground. It's cold and clear, yet blue skies are often partially occluded by varied tufts and wisps of gray clouds, harbingers of winter-to-come.
How very easy it is to slip back in memory to a brisk, clear-skied autumn day in 1995.
After driving my 80-year old mother through some particularly lovely areas of our town; after hearing her joyous comments about all the beauty we were seeing as we drove past old homes and established flower gardens; after a leisurely lunch, she was ready for an afternoon nap.
As I began to turn the corner into her neighborhood, Mom looked to the right, commenting on an ancient bigleaf maple tree whose plate-sized leaves, now crisp and brittle and piled over a foot high, filled the entire area underneath the tree.
Her voice came in a whispered rush: "Oh, how I wish I could scuffle in those leaves!" Hmmmm...the tree lived in a public park six feet away from the curb outlining the parking area. Her 4-wheeled walker lay in the trunk, ready for action.
Turning the car around, I eased the tires over the slight curb and up to the edge of those enticing leaves. Gripping the handles of her walker, a childlike look of delight on her face, Mom slid her feet along and scuffled through the leaves.
Those few moments were just about the best moments of the day
After driving my 80-year old mother through some particularly lovely areas of our town; after hearing her joyous comments about all the beauty we were seeing as we drove past old homes and established flower gardens; after a leisurely lunch, she was ready for an afternoon nap.
As I began to turn the corner into her neighborhood, Mom looked to the right, commenting on an ancient bigleaf maple tree whose plate-sized leaves, now crisp and brittle and piled over a foot high, filled the entire area underneath the tree.
Her voice came in a whispered rush: "Oh, how I wish I could scuffle in those leaves!" Hmmmm...the tree lived in a public park six feet away from the curb outlining the parking area. Her 4-wheeled walker lay in the trunk, ready for action.
Turning the car around, I eased the tires over the slight curb and up to the edge of those enticing leaves. Gripping the handles of her walker, a childlike look of delight on her face, Mom slid her feet along and scuffled through the leaves.
Those few moments were just about the best moments of the day
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
~John Donne
