Autumn beauty in our own back yard

Yellow leaves on the oak tree

This morning there was a thick fog here, lasting for quite a while.
I stepped into the back yard and looked around. 
These are some of the views I was blessed to see.
Moisture on fallen leaves
In the hush and quiet of the morning, the dampness touched every surface.
Droplets on pine needles
Nothing was left dry. Pine needles. Spider webs…
Jeweled web
…highlighting details we normally would not notice.
Brilliant even in the fog
All of this magnificent beauty…in our own back yard. 
It was wonderful to take a break from the work in the house
and just enjoy the colors.
Tell me, dear friend, have you taken that kind of a break lately?

Monday Inspiration

Frost on sunrise

When the Frost is on the Punkin

 

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
 
Frost on the pumpkin
 
Sharing a bit of inspiration with you to start of your week…
This was a favorite poem of my grandfather’s.
Read more about the author at The Poetry Foundation

Come and tell your story

Path at Kendrick Woods

At long last it really feels like fall today.  I actually had to wear a winter jacket when we were out for a bit this evening.  The temperature has dipped way down, and most likely there will be frost on the ground in the morning.  Then those leaves that have already begun to change will step up that process and finally let go and fall to the ground.

I love fall. It is my time of year.  The crisp, autumn breezes. The crunch of the leaves under my feet.  The aromas of foods made just in the cold time of year, like hearty soup and breads.  And the amazing, stunning colors all around.  

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just meet in this woods, sit together on those benches, and just take in the view?  Maybe sip on a cup of hot tea from a thermos.  Listen to the sounds of the woods.   Cameras would be welcome, of course, and I could see several of us just kind of wandering off and quietly clicking away, lost in our own sense of nature’s beauty.

Maybe you can keep that image in mind when you have a crummy day in the future.  You know those days will come, just like they do in my world, too.  I think that is what makes us appreciate places like this one even more.  You have to have experienced the total opposite of this in order to understand the value of this place where you can come…and simply rest.

Here in my little corner of this big beautiful world I am preparing for a weekend of rest, at another retreat. We have been asked by our retreat leader to share our stories, which I look forward to, though I admit I get nervous when I think of telling my own.  Today I have had so many thoughts about my own story, what turns my life has taken, how different it is from yours and yet how similar it is all at the same time.  I often struggle with thoughts of not being good enough and therefore hold back…and that is not good.  In recent months I have talked with other women who have that same struggle, and it is very healing just to know that I’m not alone.

We need to let go of our
stories instead of just holding them in. (You know I’m saying this to myself, even though that sentence
began with “we”.)  Something magical happens when we do that, when we
tell someone about our life.  A common bond is found, friendships often
form, and some of the loneliness we feel will dim or even disappear.  So even as I feel a bit of the jitters going into this time of sharing my story, I know that it will be time well spent, filled with that which feeds my soul.

If you could find a place 
to sit with a friend and share your own story,
 what would that place look like?