When I started this blog, it was to get myself writing again.  I found some pieces I wrote 5-10 years ago that are pretty good.  I thought about recycling them, but they are too long & sometimes too personal.  I’m trying to find a new rhythm for this new format.  I wrote about autumn or fall quite a bit in those other writings.  Most of the time I was remembering precious fall memories of hunters and holidays and changing seasons.

Today, I was trying to decide if this is the autumn of my life.  Or is the winter?  It sure isn’t the spring or the summer.  I’m not trying to be morbid – just trying to see where I fit into the poetic metaphor of the seasons of our lives.  What I decided after not much thought is that we don’t make that decision.  The poetry doesn’t fit because we don’t know how long we have to live.  For some people, the autumn of their life could be at 35 or 15 or 55.  The seasons of life thing only works if you live a long enough life to make it into a pretty division of the cycles you have been through.

My conclusion of that random line of thinking is that we should stop thinking about it and just enjoy the changing of the seasons for all the days we have given to us.  Right now, I’m going to watch the leaves change colors and the flickering of the first fire of the season and take it all into my heart full of memories.  Lovely…

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