.Leafless trees are barren for a season. A frosty breeze strips them bare to reveal another form of glory in their creative lines, their shape, their originality.
.A noisy escapee from the recycle bin performs its random and noisy dance in the gusty breezes. It rushes here, then there, crashing occasionally, and then suddenly stopping - as if out of breath.
.Standing there, I soak it all in. Someone steps outside, chin tucked, and begins the hasty charge to the calm inside their car. "What are you so happy about?" they ask. I smile and say, "no mosquitoes."
.But I know they will return. And so will the leaves. And so will the sun. Lord willing, I will be here to enjoy them all again.