The Birthday of a New Season

At forty-four minutes and eighteen seconds past eleven this very morning, Edward and I stood at the side of a pine forest, in front of a quiet lake, watching for its arrival. As the water lapped against the rocky shore we waited. Dappled turtles formed a hard shell queue on a lichen covered log beside us, while a heron stood serenely near, with one lanky leg poised above the water, all of us frozen still, listening, silently, together in the soft glow of the late morning sun. Watching, waiting. For Autumn. Sweet red orange golden autumn, with its cinnamon winds and dancing leaves all heralding a most welcome change. May this change of season bring with it a renewal, of spirit, of purpose and of hope. In my search for beauty in the finite world, may I discover more of the infinite, and may looking outward to the needs of others provide me with a shining bit of peace to call my very own.
May the birth of this fresh, clean, new season give us all a fresh, clean, new start.
It was strange to think that when we stopped our walk by this glassy lake it was summer, and when we continued on to catch up with Apple and her Songwriter, it was autumn. A brand new season had been born to the world and we were there to witness it.


A Birthday Poem
by Ted Kooser

Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.