aeryn

Ive always thought of fall as a time of change, with a struggle going on between summer and winter, but this year, winters frozen stillness seemed to come early. Everything seemed suspended, even the air hung frozen waiting for some sort of change, I noticed the white fog quietly bleach the colors from the earth without all the riot of fall. Then as the weather turned colder this fog froze in the air, lingering even on the brightest day under the trees and in the increasing shadows reminding me that either Lewis or Clark in their journals described this area of as a place of mists most foul. I hear people say If it would rain it would snow. But it does neither. It waits.

And I wait. Here. Frozen in this strange silent fall. A quiet time to be introspective but without that sharp clarity that often accompanies a brilliant winter day, my days have been soft and muddled. But tomorrow, for me the solstice will come early, and whatever happens the sun will return minute by minute until I am again in the riot of the green, tumbling spring.