Stopping on the way to somewhere else...

The Cost of Silence

He was always there. In her mind, she saw him standing tall and silent, like the stone that now bore his name. She tried to stay away, but something always pulled her back. Day after day, she crossed the worn grass, pushed open the creaking gate and knelt by his side.

She’d sent him away, refused to talk, closed her eyes to his pain and prayed that her own would lessen with time. It hadn’t, and now that the chance for words had passed, she finally understood how denying it had bound them together forever. So really, who haunted who?

Mist

Mist

As day fades into night, mist wafts slowly across the landscape, like a possessive ghost sliding through the halls of its chosen home. Gently it flows across the still surface of a pond, tangles itself in reeds and grasses and extends delicate tendrils between the trees into the darkness beyond.

Its caress muffles the normal sounds of evening. The stars above gradually fade to blankness. Their brilliance is no match for the cool, pale blanket that wraps the world in fluid layers of whiteness, cushioning the weary and lulling all it touches to peaceful serenity in its soft, encompassing arms.

Memory of Fall

Fall has finally come to my little corner of the world. I’ve been waiting and waiting but it’s taken its own sweet time to get here. The trees remained stubbornly green all through October, some turning brown without bothering to put on any autumn finery, but now that November has arrived, they seem to have decided it’s time to turn all at once. Practically overnight, the Bradford pears across the street have become variegated things of beauty, the maples at the library have gone up in flaming red, and the ones in my yard have finally decided to show a bit of brilliance before covering my grass with their bounty.

Of course, at the same time, the leaves are falling fast. The wind has been swirling a constant stream of brown, yellow and red leaves past my window today…a fall blizzard, the only type I can expect to see anymore, I suppose.

Fall was always my favorite season growing up. I loved the colors and the return of cold weather. I liked wearing sweaters, looking up at the bluest sky the year had to offer, crunching through dead leaves as I walked, and smelling the scent of burning leaves in the crisp air. I realized today that smell is one of the things that always said fall most strongly to me, which may be one of the reasons it feels so different now than it did then.

My Dad used to rake a huge pile of leaves into the gutter in front of the house, often more than once, during October and burn them. It would take hours and constant tending. We had a large yard and a lot of trees and the wind would contribute some of the neighbor’s leaves as well. :) He wouldn’t let us get too close, but a pile of burning leaves attracted kids like moths to a flame. He always had an audience, and so did anyone else around engaged in the same activity.

The sight and smell of that burning leaf pile said fall to me more than anything else I can think of. The smoke would curl up through the bare branches of the maples in front of the house and would linger in the air for hours. It’s not allowed today, of course, and with good reason, but for me it’s an indelible memory of the past and I remember it fondly.