mistaking the sensation of death underneath it all. Under the bright
skies, beneath the cheery blooms. One by one, then many by many, the
leaves die. Surrendering themselves, in death, as a blanket for the
earth. The bees rush about. Frantic amidst their slowing bodies. Heavy fruit
weigh down branches, and in the evening the smell of yard burnings and
re-awakened fireplaces begin to replace the aroma of campfires.
Yes, autumn has found her way into the valley. It is ‘the setting of
the sun’ time of year.
Hail Mighty Gabriel.