By Susan G Parcheta
The little reed, bending to the force of the wind, soon stood upright again when the storm had passed over. ~ Aesop
Before Hurricane Sandy took a sharp left turn into the New England states, I’d been thinking about autumn in the traditional sort of sentimental way we tend to think about autumn. Specifically: its beauty.
There is a beauty to each season. There’s a cyclical beauty that resonates internally, as we look forward to the transforming of one season into the next.
One day, I’m thinking about the wonder of the autumn winds on a day when the last remnants of leaves flutter down from trees. Always, it’s the same transformational time. Autumn winds blow. Leaves fall. Leaves pile up on yards and walkways. Kids jump in them. Dads and moms rake them up and blow them away.
It’s a ritual that anyone who grows up in a state with seasons finds emblazoned in their memories -- enough that they might be tempted to send a box of autumn leaves (as someone I know did )to a transplanted friend in a far southern state.
On this day, the sound of a warm autumn breeze caresses my heart, as the gentle wind touches my face. Shuffling along through crunchy layers of leaves on walkways perks my spirit. The rhythmic flow of my feet swishing in leaves comforts. The fragrance of autumn fills my soul with gratitude. I breathe easy; I’m relishing the out-of-doors; life is good.
I find that I’m experimenting with tuning in more to the nuances of the seasons. I’m learning to appreciate the singular beauty that each season offers in succession: Autumn, winter, spring, summer.
