These sun drenched autumn days will pass. Even though the bees still drone among the late blooming flowers, The bugling call of the Canadian geese warns all who hear it that the days of sunlight and mellow weather cannot last forever no matter how much we may desire them to linger.
The nights are clear with a touch of frost and the stars are more brilliant now than during the heat of summer when humidity dims their brilliance.
Every where I look the chipmunks scurry about gathering rations to sustain them through the ice fingered days of winter. The squirrels are never far from the feeders and the sparrows feast on the ripening seeds of things humans refer to as weeds.
Every day now the leaves rain down from the old cottonwood. With the help of the breeze they dance toward the earth, when there is no breeze they float and drift earthward on the still air.
For all its loveliness autumn has a tinge of sadness about it. The annuals in the garden have a kind of resignation about them knowing there lives will reach a conclusion with the first hard frost. Their time in the summer sun must end, but that is the rule by which all life must abide.
The chrysanthemums are brave. They do not perish before the ice clad frost beings. They bloom in spite of them. “To everything there is a season”.
Like the annuals in the garden I too seek to absorb the liquid sunlight, letting it permeate every fiber of my being and storing it in my bones in order to be sustained until the spring time comes again.
I take the time to thank each plant that added its color and fragrance to this garden, from same I gather seeds I hope will germinate in the spring. Some scatter there own seed and surprise me when that seed germinates in a spot I may least expect to see it.
Gardens are like that, if you ever notice. They like to surprise us by doing something unexpected, some of the best things in the garden are the results of just such a surprise.
Some folks serve the world in selfless ways striving to make it a better place. I, on the other hand, am the servant of this opulent garden where bees and butterflies, birds and squirrels and chipmunks find a sanctuary in which they live out the life that they have been given in peace.
Even my cats live in peace here, well fed by me, and far to comfortable to hunt much of anything other than their own food dishes.
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