Leaves blow down and swirl and lift, like birds sometimes as they gather for migration. Today the trees are bare except the oaks, and oak leaves are falling and gathering in the arms of the hemlocks, and in the nook by the door.
We gather pieces this time of year, tuck in, pull the sweater closer, the scarf around our neck, the hat over our ears. We cup the mug in welcoming hands, breathe in steam, make the house fragrant with soups and roasts, cloves and cinnamon.
We gather ourselves in tighter, stay in earlier in the earlier dark. And this season brings rain in this part of the country, cold rain, rain that drives you inside even during daylight, and drives daylight into dusk.
We gather friends in smaller groups, sit more closely, tuck in with the cat and a book and a blanket.
We gather ideas for upcoming feasts or visits, but feel the inward pull too- we run dress rehearsals in our minds imagining tights and skirts pulled from the closet, boots zipped up, coats that smell vaguely of cedar or lavender from their storage.
It is a time of increased stillness, of settling inward, of light spilling from windows onto ground awaiting snow.
From here on the sofa, I imagine the skies above the clouds filled with flocks of birds, moving in spite of the rain, in spite of the oncoming dark, in spite of the cold. The season says GO and they do, they gather and go– a million wings, a wild tumble in the air as they alight and rest, and then spill skyward.
***Amazing image used with gratitude and by permission of Ashley Thalman
