I toast a sourdough muffin golden, two halves, and slather them with butter and mounds of strawberry freezer jam.
I love the jeweled color of strawberries mashed in the making.
Red to me is the color of hope.
I steep a cup of Earl Grey Green, inhale the fragrance of bergamot, and settle at the table.
The hummingbirds have gone, I think.
And I’ve seen geese fly in V’s.
The ashen sky hangs heavy.
The soybeans are browning.
The leaves are beginning to fall and lie all wet and matted on the gravel.
Life is seeding.
Yet there’s color in the changing, in the dying.
I’m sharing crumbs around Emily’s table today. Come join me as I ponder.
Oh, I love that last line…Yet there’s color in the changing, in the dying. Awesome!
you bless me. as a woman who knows, who’s lost a child, you bless. thank you.
I love your post. It strikes a true chord with the inevitable change of seasons, and of life. Words to meditate on this beautiful fall afternoon.