[Seasons: Autumn XIII]
[I was scanning Consuming Hope, my first book, this morning, and came across a few reflections on autumn. I think closing out this series of autumnal thoughts with a few pieces from that book will add a nice touch.]
Autumn at 7110 Baywood Lane—the house I grew up in and still love—is marked by signs of both dying and explosive life. On one hand, the flowers begin to droop. The frost inflicts pain on the hanging pots first. They have less protection than those that are shielded by ivy or hedges of bushes. The droopy color fades and soon will be given back to the earth as compost, the roots bearing down for the colder nights ahead. The Liquidambars offer seed pods that speckle the driveway like earthly goosebumps.
Hanging pots and Liquidambars were the seasonal bugles, warning us of a wintery future.
