I know I dream of snow come Winter, but really, much love and many prayers to those of you lost in drifts of the stuff. May your hearths be warm, your socks dry and may He keep your feet from slipping.
Suddenly the glorious maple has lost her sheen and the grey patches sadden her. I think the Meadowplace is declaring an end to Autumn.
Even the stalwart chestnut tree, whose leaves swayed proudly intact for weeks, is bare and bedraggled. As wet as an eleven year old trudging daily home from school in pouring rain. We're consciously now working at keeping the hearth warm, the feet dry, and the feet from slipping.
I am also endeavouring to fend off the approach of a certain season, the name of which is forbidden in this house until the 1st December, by mutual consent of all within. November is about preparing for Preparing for Advent, our annual ladies' event. Isn't it?