In shadow’s night I stand dawn ridden But full of sound Like grackle flock that struts Southward across the fall leafed lawn. Tingle of frost on fingers’ tips crawls In ant steps on nerves cold, wet, and raw. It is the change though November late. Soon Christmas and the New priorities, Another slate slicky clean In baby-butt newness Awaits to be seen. What then shall we be? Or as the Russian said, “What then must we do?” Mingling satisfaction of year done with Anxiousness of what is to come, I horizon gaze and know: It is not the starriness or windswept sky But crystal into God’s mind and eye. Another year to pass. Another grown old and withered on the Vine of time but cold pressed will make Oil or wine. A dram and move on. We cannot answer, We cannot assure, We can only wonder, love, think, And endure.
Our first frost came a little later than normal - perhaps a bit more harshly…it was 80 degrees over the weekend! But it is always cause to stop and reflect on where we are in the year. I hope you enjoy!