My window opens out into the trees and in that small place of branches and of sky I see the seasons pass behold the tender green give way to darker heavier leaves.
The glory of autumn comes when steeped in mellow sunlight the fragile, golden leaves against a clear blue sky linger in the magic of the afternoon and then reluctantly break off and filter down to pave a street with gold.
Then bare, gray branches lift themselves against the cold December sky sometimes weaving a web across the rose and dusk of late sunset
Sometimes against a frail new moon and one bright star riding a sky of that dark, living blue which comes before the heaviness of night descends, or the stars have powered the heavens.
Winds beat against these trees; the cold, but gentle rain of spring touches them lightly the summer torrents strive to lash them into a fury and seek to break them-but they stand.
My life is fevered and a restlessness at times an agony-again a vague and baffling discontent possess me.
I am thankful for my bit of sky and trees, and for the shifting pageant of the seasons.
Such beauty lays upon the heart a quiet. Such eternal change and permanence take meaning from all turmoil and leave serenity which knows no pain…
Reference:
Clarissa Scott Delaney
