The chill of a foggy morning, the bright blue of the sky and the smell of oak burning in a not-too-distant fireplace welcome the visitor to stay. A walk along a forested path and the crunching leaves underfoot mix with the sound of your own breathing. A squirrel chattering about your intrusion brings a smile and then you notice that just as maple and oak are dropping their leaves, pine needles float lazily in swirls down to the ground.
The changing of the seasons is a welcome sight. Not just a signal of an ending, it is also a beginning. Among the dry brown pine needles 'shrooms push through to new life. Mushrooms transform the decaying leaves and fallen limbs to vibrant yellow and red toadstools of fairytale and myth. Enjoy.
2 comments:
Marty,
You have the sight of an artist, the mind of a philosopher, and the skill of a writer. I might walk along, see the mushrooms, and think "Those are nice," but that's all. You not only notice the details, but then you think more deeply about the experience, and wrap it up in picturesque words that draw in your reader. Wonderful talents!
Thanks, Debbie. It speaks to me; I just respond.
Post a Comment