I took something out to the mailbox this morning, slid it in the box and flipped up the flag. Not as chilly as it was a couple of days ago, but nothing like the summer days we had. The wind was blowing even though the sky was clear. I walked back across the road and stepped up on the front porch. It looked so inviting, that I sat down for a bit. (Any excuse to avoid work, you know!)

That’s when I looked at the dogwood tree. The leaves are changing color. I know it is that time of year, after all tomorrow is the first day of October. Three quarters of this year already passed.

But the changing of the leaves makes me melancholy, in some ways. The green goes away. The green that is my energy…the strength that flows through my own roots and cells. It isn’t a permanent separation, for I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that next spring it will come again. But there is a laying aside of things that have had their day. A gentle mourning for things that passed.

Things that have flourished will lay dormant during the coming months. A waiting time. A time of slow preparation and a gathering of strength. The mourning is a passing thing, for I know that during this “waiting” hope will flourish and at the end…there will be a glorious outburst of light and growth and again…a changing…

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