Saturday, November 17, 2007

The Mist & All

I like the fall,
The mist & all.
I like the night owl's
Lonely call--
And wailing sound
Of wind around.

I like the gray
November day,
And bare, dead boughs
That coldly sway
Against my pane.
I like the rain.

I like to sit
And laugh at it--
And tend
My cozy fire a bit.
I like the fall
The mist and all.--
Dixie Willson

I love fall weather. Have you ever noticed how the shades of the seasons seem to work to warm or cool us. I used to clean a house out in the middle of the Flint Hills. I drove that 40 min. every week for 12 years. In that time, I paid attention to nature as she went through her wardrobe change with each season.
Winter brought the stark white of snow, and the remaining grass that had withstood the ice and rain, and snow, still standing made it resemble a torture device with sharp little spikes sticking out. Cold pink sunsets changed to color of the snow from white to pink, to purple, to finally the blue of night.
Spring after the burning of the tall bluestem grass was green, every shade you could imagine. So soothing, a balm to a cold body, a reminder of God's promise.
Summer turned yellow. Most of the blooming flowers were yellow, and bright orange, but as the end of summer approached, the purple and blues came out to cool that intense August heat; even the grass had a blue tint to it.
Then fall, ah, fall. Don't let anyone ever convince you that the prairie of Kansas doesn't have the colors of the forest of the NE. It is just more subtle. The colors are there, in fine lines in the blades of grass, but the orange, amber, yellows and browns, and greens are all there, hiding the quail, and doves who have spent the summer building nests in the tall bluestem.
I love the fall--can you tell?