We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
~ Thornton Wilder
Today is a gift. Every day is a gift, of course, but today feels special. I’m not sure why. There is something in the air. A shift. A transformation.
The temperature has been dropping since I rolled out of bed this morning. The wind is singing. Clouds are being whisked away as the sun takes over the sky.
The leaves on the ground are no longer crispy and crunchy. I can walk silently through the woods and under the trees as I make my way around the pond. We had rain last night. It must have followed the bright flash of lightning and big boom of thunder that woke us from our dreams in the middle of the night.
Few leaves are left on any of the trees, just a stubborn straggler here and there trying to hold on as the wind tries to force it to let go. The sugar maples in the neighbor’s yard which were full of color yesterday now have a carpet of yellows, reds, and oranges at their feet. The neighbor will probably rake them up. I never saw much sense in that when you’re living out in the country. Or in the suburbs for that matter. Why not leave them or mulch them on the lawn to feed the grass?
It will snow soon. Not today. Not tomorrow. But before the week is out.