"Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound
Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own"
Norah Jones
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound
Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own"
Norah Jones
Sir Acton Scott
No offense to my former work place at the Wisconsin Maritime Museum. I LOVED my job there but why was it each morning as the autumn passed into the cold winter I just hated getting up in the morning? Early before the sun decided to peek out I would wake up and cringe to the sound the alarm clock made. Silently I would curse that old alarm clock and hit the snooze button. Five more minutes...five more minutes...just five more.
Autumn is simply my favorite season. I watch as winter slowly creeps in and it used to be I dreaded having to go out in the cold weather, and drive myself to work each day.
My how things have changed.
Is it because I am slowly aging? Is it because I appreciate the day more? Is it because I am no longer am committed to the daily grind of an 8 to 4 job? (Well that does have its advantages now doesn't it?)
Yesterday morning I opened my eyes to a room yet dark with night. The house was quiet and still from all sounds except for the playful patter of my kitten Daisy. Even that old, loyal alarm clock which once had awakened me to a day of work at the museum had not chimed its morning tune alerting me to the new day.
Our new, old dog Chester (formally known as Shasta), wagged her tail in a good-morning greeting and happily followed me down the worn wooden stairs of the farm-house. I slipped into my favorite threadbare jeans and my old flannel shirt, and headed out the front door. The morning was cool, frost still biting the blades of grass. To the East there was a purple and orange glow just behind the wispy clouds, and the distinctive Drift-less curves of the hills. A bit of wood smoke teased my nostrils; both horses knickered at me causing a slight steamy condensation to curl out of their fuzzy noses.
Once I had hated getting up before the sun rose...now this is the part of the day I look forward to seeing, and I am glad I did not linger in my four poster bed too long to have missed it.
Our rooster, Sir Acton Scott, heard me talking with the horses and he began to crow and flap his wings in an angry fashion. It is not yet daylight but he was not going to let me steal his thunder of announcing a new day to the world. The dog followed along as I chattered to the hens looking for eggs. She sniffed the ground and the air looking for remnants of last night's guests that might have wandered through the barnyard. Perhaps she smelled the stray black cat that mysteriously appears occasionally, or the possum we shot at a few nights back. I threw hay to the horses smelling the grassy, green scent as I tossed it over the fence. I found myself brushing its remnants from my flannel sleeve as a slight wind had taken it and placed it upon my arm causing the forage to mimic the appearance of a light snow.
Mr. Flanagan was not up yet even though the coffee had been slowly brewing in the kitchen sending its heady, earthy smells his way. I didn't want to go in the house yet even though it was cold and damp. The sun now boasted its dark -orange splendor getting smaller as it continued to rise. I could now gaze upon points of the farm yard and dream of where I will plant my garden. Next year the vegetable garden will be much larger with hopeful yields. I looked for the last bud and bloom on the honeysuckle tree next to the front porch; I know that my autumn is slowly fading into winter and will silence, and put to sleep such beauty for a time.
I finally entered the house taking in the warm scent of a good strong coffee. That morning oatmeal was on the breakfast menu topped of course with freshly churned creamy butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Once my chores were finished in the kitchen I headed to the sewing room to finish construction on a baby gift I am making for my brother and his wife. Christmas music playing courtesy of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I worked there in that little room a good part of the day setting aside time now and again to pat the dog's head or scratch the cat's back. The afternoon had settled its warmth upon the yard fooling me once again into believing my autumn was determined to stay. Being December 5th I knew this was a false claim; soon soft, white, glistening snow will silently fall bringing yet another beauty to behold for my eyes and senses. Joy to the World!
I feel blessed to have this life to wake up to...to rise to each day. Just like my yeast breads set in the loaf pans, I automatically rise. Without a prompt or the old alarm clock, I set my internal self to rise and take in each brand-new day waiting for me to enjoy. If I live to be 80 my life is already half over. I desire to, if allowed to live to the age of 80, still open my eyes to welcome the day without the poking of an alarm clock to make me do so.
Readers, our dear friend David Dresang now struggles to see, live, breathe, or experience yet another sunrise. I continually shed tears for him, his wife Theresa, and their son Bryan.
Let not the obstacles of self-pity or ploys of non-contentment steal your joy. Christ has given us, each and every one of us, the ability to rise with the sun and thank Him for life. As David clings to the last bit of life he has been given, I plead with you to enjoy your blessings. Ponder your every breath. Enjoy your every moment.
As the season of Christmas approaches make new memories with those you are able to...no blessed to be with. It may not be the 'ideal' picture postcard by Currier and Ives for some of us, but so important are these times we have here each day.
Dear ones, it is time for you to rise as the sun and behold the world around you created perfectly by an awesome creator...
"From the rising of the sun from the going down of the same the Lord's name is to be praised." Psalm 113:3
Autumn is simply my favorite season. I watch as winter slowly creeps in and it used to be I dreaded having to go out in the cold weather, and drive myself to work each day.
My how things have changed.
Is it because I am slowly aging? Is it because I appreciate the day more? Is it because I am no longer am committed to the daily grind of an 8 to 4 job? (Well that does have its advantages now doesn't it?)
Yesterday morning I opened my eyes to a room yet dark with night. The house was quiet and still from all sounds except for the playful patter of my kitten Daisy. Even that old, loyal alarm clock which once had awakened me to a day of work at the museum had not chimed its morning tune alerting me to the new day.
Our new, old dog Chester (formally known as Shasta), wagged her tail in a good-morning greeting and happily followed me down the worn wooden stairs of the farm-house. I slipped into my favorite threadbare jeans and my old flannel shirt, and headed out the front door. The morning was cool, frost still biting the blades of grass. To the East there was a purple and orange glow just behind the wispy clouds, and the distinctive Drift-less curves of the hills. A bit of wood smoke teased my nostrils; both horses knickered at me causing a slight steamy condensation to curl out of their fuzzy noses.
Once I had hated getting up before the sun rose...now this is the part of the day I look forward to seeing, and I am glad I did not linger in my four poster bed too long to have missed it.
Our rooster, Sir Acton Scott, heard me talking with the horses and he began to crow and flap his wings in an angry fashion. It is not yet daylight but he was not going to let me steal his thunder of announcing a new day to the world. The dog followed along as I chattered to the hens looking for eggs. She sniffed the ground and the air looking for remnants of last night's guests that might have wandered through the barnyard. Perhaps she smelled the stray black cat that mysteriously appears occasionally, or the possum we shot at a few nights back. I threw hay to the horses smelling the grassy, green scent as I tossed it over the fence. I found myself brushing its remnants from my flannel sleeve as a slight wind had taken it and placed it upon my arm causing the forage to mimic the appearance of a light snow.
Mr. Flanagan was not up yet even though the coffee had been slowly brewing in the kitchen sending its heady, earthy smells his way. I didn't want to go in the house yet even though it was cold and damp. The sun now boasted its dark -orange splendor getting smaller as it continued to rise. I could now gaze upon points of the farm yard and dream of where I will plant my garden. Next year the vegetable garden will be much larger with hopeful yields. I looked for the last bud and bloom on the honeysuckle tree next to the front porch; I know that my autumn is slowly fading into winter and will silence, and put to sleep such beauty for a time.
I finally entered the house taking in the warm scent of a good strong coffee. That morning oatmeal was on the breakfast menu topped of course with freshly churned creamy butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Once my chores were finished in the kitchen I headed to the sewing room to finish construction on a baby gift I am making for my brother and his wife. Christmas music playing courtesy of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I worked there in that little room a good part of the day setting aside time now and again to pat the dog's head or scratch the cat's back. The afternoon had settled its warmth upon the yard fooling me once again into believing my autumn was determined to stay. Being December 5th I knew this was a false claim; soon soft, white, glistening snow will silently fall bringing yet another beauty to behold for my eyes and senses. Joy to the World!
I feel blessed to have this life to wake up to...to rise to each day. Just like my yeast breads set in the loaf pans, I automatically rise. Without a prompt or the old alarm clock, I set my internal self to rise and take in each brand-new day waiting for me to enjoy. If I live to be 80 my life is already half over. I desire to, if allowed to live to the age of 80, still open my eyes to welcome the day without the poking of an alarm clock to make me do so.
Readers, our dear friend David Dresang now struggles to see, live, breathe, or experience yet another sunrise. I continually shed tears for him, his wife Theresa, and their son Bryan.
Let not the obstacles of self-pity or ploys of non-contentment steal your joy. Christ has given us, each and every one of us, the ability to rise with the sun and thank Him for life. As David clings to the last bit of life he has been given, I plead with you to enjoy your blessings. Ponder your every breath. Enjoy your every moment.
As the season of Christmas approaches make new memories with those you are able to...no blessed to be with. It may not be the 'ideal' picture postcard by Currier and Ives for some of us, but so important are these times we have here each day.
Dear ones, it is time for you to rise as the sun and behold the world around you created perfectly by an awesome creator...
"From the rising of the sun from the going down of the same the Lord's name is to be praised." Psalm 113:3
"The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir"
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