Autumn Sketchbook

I think it was during the twilight of my youth that I first became aware of the fall. As the yellow leaves of summer expired themselves on our lawn, I, with rake in hand, stood amongst the dead, and for one rapturous moment, became as they; serene, yet serious, moody like the October skies. I watched the simplicity of falling leaves, dancing in the autumn breeze, descending gracefully to earth in a most glorious fashion, as if bidding a fond farewell to the golden days of summer.

As my mind drifted with the autumn gale, I unlocked those dusty rooms of my memories and went back to another day; a day of penny candy and huge grape gumballs softening in my pockets. I remember frost covered puddles dry and crackling beneath my feet, gray misty marshes where we'd all go and play after school and upon my return home, steam on the windows from my mother's cooking.

As I reflect on the beauty of this wondrous season, I can't help but gaze out across the fields of plenty, where the blossoming trees of summer will now bow like gentlemen to the grace of Autumn. These memories, these precious treasures from the vault of my recollections, are now put away again for safe keeping.

The coming of fall brings its promise of red leaves and harvest pumpkins and I look forward to its arrival with great eagerness. As I stare out across this autumn meadow, my thoughts are gently guided by the things that surround me. The cool breezes, the distant smell of woodsmoke, the lonely birdsongs of those who will wait out the winter, and of course, autumn's symphony of colors.

This was an innocent time, a time of harvest dances and Halloween treats; of ghostly stories and Thanksgiving day turkeys.

Soon will come the winter, I can feel her windy rattlings and chilly mornings. This is the November in me. With this thought, I turn up my collar and shiver my acknowledgement to the beauty in which my heart is now held captive.

"The night has a flavor that cannot be described in words or put to paper."

In the purple veil of nightfall the harvest moon ingnites fires within my soul, and I am left with feelings of purpose, reason and reflection. Then, like a Heavenly cue, the wind rustles the leaves in the trees, waking me to the moment of just who I am. In the distance I can hear the Heron calling across the water and the chirp of nightbirds whispering out my presence.

All things are done and another day has passed. The night has a flavor that cannot be described in words or put to paper. On the table in front of my rests my Autumn sketchbook. The drawings are all finished and colored with love. All that is left to do now is to dim the lights and let my fingers warm around my coffee cup.

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