How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.
- Elsie N. Brady, Leaves
Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny autumn day. The temperature here was 75 degrees--unusual for this time of year. By evening, it was raining and a cold front moved in. Today's high is predicted in the upper 30s.
So, here it is. Another November. Melancholy November.
November makes me feel unsettled, caught between the teardown of Halloween and the anticipation of decorating for Christmas in the manner to which my family has become accustomed.
Do you feel it yet? That itch? That urge to pull out the Christmas boxes and get right to it?
No, no. Patience. Still nearly two weeks until Thanksgiving. Oh, if I can only hold on for another week! Yes. That would be better . . .
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