|Shadows in my Parlor|
It is late on this Sunday afternoon. Earlier I dig the potatoes for winter, I clean off my shovel and dump old plants into the compost heap. The leaves I do not rake, I let winter have their way with them and mulch the goodness into the earth.
The bench is gone as are the other signs of summer, but I leave two green chairs by the fire ring for nights such as this.
I come into the old house with streaks of late Autumn sun dust filling the cracks on the walls. Shadows appear in places where shadows have not appeared before, since last Autumn.
I think of all that has come, the spring and summer, and patiently wait for the callings of winter and cardinals on the snow.
Tonight I will read Wendell Berry and Norbert Krapf before sleep takes me deep into the heart of dreams and darkness.
Farewell beloved Indian Summer, thank you for sharing your beauty another year.