The other day I watched as solitary yellow leaves, blown far from their source, spiraled like drunken butterflies above the prairie grass. The morning sun lit them with stunning fire as they pranced across the currents of the air. Had the leaves had arms they would have lifted them in worship to the heavens. I exulted in them; they ignored me.
The air is getting colder, and the sun is lower in the sky. Nature is putting itself to sleep, and we rest with a quiet restlessness. Don Thompson describes the flat affect of this quarter of the year. Yet, there is a solace in the coming bleakness of winter. Abandoned as it were by nature, we are thrown back into our own solitude and asked to draw upon the resources that are within. Let us trust what we have stored up. The wildflowers are silent now, but they have spoken. It is too early to hibernate, but still we have what we need.
Todd Breyfogle, Denver, Colorado