The turkey has been devoured, the china has been washed and dried and returned to the cupboard, the lace tablecloth is freshly ironed and replaced in its drawer, the company is gone. My little cottage is suddenly quiet. We had a marvelous time as we cooked together, said thanks together, ate well, and laughed much. The phone rang often as distant family members called to say Happy Thanksgiving.
Today I took a long walk in the cold sunshine. The trees are showing their bones; the landscape is painted in muted shades of buff and brown. Now at twilight, the sky is blanketed in a quilt of dove gray. The air is damp and promises snow flurries for tomorrow. We are headed toward the longest night of the year after which the light will begin its slow but steady increase. Now is the time for hunkering down. For me, winter is not a season of death so much as one of rest, a time to withdraw and be quiet, to renew ones' self.
5 comments:
I love the poetic spirit in you. You make a cold walk in late autumn sing praise.
I too, like to think of winter as a time for resting, preparing for the bursting forth of new life in the spring.
I must remember to take my camera out with me more often.
Devoured turkey and boney trees - a bit of a carcass theme happening?
It was a lovely walk, Ruth, despite the chill
Meggie - you always post wonderful photos!
lol Lee - I will have to choose my words more carefully...
I like your thoughts on winter not being a time of death, and I like this:
"The trees are showing their bones" - wow. That's marvellous. Sometimes a line will just catch me by surprise, reminding me why I love to read.
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