10/25/2021
The sky is red.
There are a thousand colors under it, but that one hits my heart, and I can't breathe for a moment, just looking.
Red. Phoebe and I prayed for a red sunset. And here it is, in front of us, more real, more vibrant, full of so much more that what we imagined.
Red. Its beautiful, the sunlight cutting across the grasses, ri***ng each strand with gold, tinged with that same stain, and its beautiful, everything turned toward something filled with the sharpness of the autumn sky.
The winds have changed. We thought it would be warm, like it was below, but up here, its chill. Up here, the air is a little crisper, a little sharper with a thousand feelings and the knowledge of change. My heart lifts with it. Hope. Hope for something spoken of on the wind that scrapes across these mountain tops, hope that is spoken of as the leaves fall from the trees.
How can there be this hope, mingled with the knowledge of change, the knowledge that time is shifting, that death is coming to all that has been green and real?
Winter is no less real. Fall is no less raw, bringing with it a taste of what is to come and a knowledge of joy.
Joy. Yes. Joy. Maybe thats what we taste when the colors change and eyes shift to wonder. Joy mingled with hope mingled with a knowledge that this time is limited. That there is something long after, and then this will return, full green, beautiful and alive and raw, and each season will bring its own wonder.
Autumn comes with a knowledge of the good that is coming, surely and truly as the seasons shift and things pass away, new ones coming in a season of cold. For this is a season. And though the world is growing hard, for a time, there is life to come, real, potent and green, whispering across the fields with a promise of what is to come.
Autumn. Autumn is a breath away, moving in a light of hope for the season to come, moments of joy through the knowledge that the darkness shall not last, that the night will be short again.
Hope. In the last light, in the touch of the fog and the knowledge that seasons don't last, but that joy is ingrained in each of them, bright with the brush of each strand of fading grass. Hope.