Our Rose of Sharon two weeks ago
I journal about seasons probably more than anything else and probably mostly in spring and fall when things change so quickly. One morning there is frost and suddenly all the tender plants are brown and dead. Another day an afternoon storm comes up and the wind shakes loose a fury of leaves. In minutes they lay scattered all over the freshly raked yard. Last weekend my husband climbed on the roof to pull the leaves from the gutter where they bristled. Mounds of leaves thrown down girdled the house.
It was cold this morning. Now the little trees and bushes in my yard are bare. Only the dark purple, wine colored leaves remain, the oaks, grandfathers of the woods.
Winter's stasis is ushered in.