Forests of winter-tree-gingerbread cookies, thickly and whitely frosted, thoroughly cooled, are all ready for enjoying.
Hot steam fogs the window as we wash the morning dishes together, looking at and chatting about the super moon swiftly vanishing behind the distant trees over the snow topped field.
This third-super-moon-in-a-row marked our 25th wedding anniversary, a beautiful, extraordinary anniversary gift from our Creator who originally brought Chris and I together. What an incredible God, giving me a shy husband, who gave me a super, adventurous marriage experience.
And today, the church in Hanoverton gave us an amazing gift—lunch at the historic Spread Eagle Inn. “Thank you,” we say, with a full orchestra of swelling music behind us!
The green lawn shimmers golden yellow orange red with a blanket of magnificent fallen leaves under the gray, almost wintery sky. I always look forward to this time of year to soak up the gorgeous colors of what recently was very alive, vibrant green and clustered together on trees, providing shade, shelter and nutrition for all kinds of creatures. At this time of year, they wear down brilliantly, their lives ending with a blow-out of hues that artists and photographers strive to catch.
Glory in death.
This year several glorious leaves fell from my life. Some fell earlier than others, but they all blazed brilliantly as they finished their purpose and the time came to go away. First my Aunt Betty Hunt, then long time family friend Thelma Johnson, then my mother Mary Jo Hunt Gregoire and then my cousin Danny Gregoire.
They left people behind, yearning to see them again. Their departure allows us to follow suit—serve our purpose, finish in spectacular ways, blanket other lives with our own blazing ends. The time of death is a wonderful time to do our absolute very best, to leave behind burning images of good for those who are just beginning and for those who are still strong and green.
Today, stepping carefully among the tree’s fallen leaves, tears finally flow down my face. Finally, I mourn…and it’s okay.
October 8, 2016…the morning I found the way to mourn.
Looking out the front window
the great big picture window
across the ponds in the driveway
across the wet highway
soaked fields just harvested yesterday
past the line of wilted sunflowers
to the house across the way
where the oaks, maple trees and others
blaze brightly at their edges
golden fire burning into the green inside of themselves
not doused by the light continuous rain
cars going by
A flame that doesn’t go out even though it is raining
I can still blaze with my own power my own energy
even if there is a gloom around me
recovering from tonsillitis
Praise the colorful trees on a gloomy day!