The trees are stripped bare, naked and gnarly. Seemingly overnight. The wind undressed their regal attire. One by one, the leaves drifted to the ground to die.
The glory days are gone. They can’t last forever. At least not this side of heaven.
The clock retreated 60 minutes last Sunday. Pitch black darkness swallows up daylight before we hold hands around the dinner table, except for the moon.
And tonight’s a Supermoon. My little explained. “It’s a full moon, mommy, and it’s positioned so that earth is 13% closer to the moon than normal and that makes the moon look a lot bigger.”
And my mind rehearses the text of an old favorite, one of the stories we cuddled close and read together for many moons.
The one about “the three little bears sitting on chairs
And two little kittens
And a pair of mittens
And a little toy house
And a young mouse
And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush
And a quiet old lady who was whispering “hush”…..”
Meanwhile, the strong limbs extend upward, outward casting shadows from their silhouettes, inviting the first snow to rest on their branches.
And it’s coming. Saturday they say, all sparkling like diamonds, dazzling in the sunshine.
The seasons are changing.
And so are we.
Always in transition.
Always being transformed.
Always holding loosely to every season, embracing it’s beauty with thanksgiving because there are always so many beautiful reasons to be grateful.