In Autumn

Autumn Movement

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
      the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
      come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
      not one lasts.

Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967.

I had to stop outside Emmy’s school and take a photo of the cross in front of these beautiful leaves. The morning sun lit up all the trees in our little town.  Breathtaking color.

treesatschool

Fall in the Mountains

I thought I would post a few of my favorites from the Hope Blog archives over the last 5 years. The morning sun’s rays caught a tree with brilliant yellow leaves as I drove the kids to school. Against the deep blue sky, the sight nearly took my breath away. This poem I posted last year, written by my son, Samuel, describes this time of year in the Colorado Rockies where he lives with his wife and son.

The leaves are turning
The leaves are turning
The color of fire
The color of gold
And the mountain sleeps
With a hoary head
At the coming of the cold

The wood the wood
The ancient wood
The scent of smoke
The frosty leas
See the leaves dance
To a silent tune and
The whisperings of trees

~ Samuel Guzman