Just two nights past October's harvest moon filled the night sky. The last two mornings frost has decorated pumpkins and windshields. Almost the last of the frosted garden plants are pulled and tucked into the compost bin. At home I'm cutting and stacking a winter's worth of firewood and draining and rolling hoses.
Its a hard time of year for me. The urgency of spring and summer seem long ago. The trees that just a few days ago blazed with fire are bare and stark. The dark increases daily and my heart wants to know where is the promise of resurrection? My logical mind knows the hope is in the composer, the soil, the ragged deer-bitten strawberries. But I am still filled with grief.
