Monday, October 19, 2015

The Golden Hour

Yellow and orange leaves blow across the rutted path. A few browns appear in the mix.

Lingering scents from a fireplace drift in from close by. Dogs bark in the distance.

A hawk cries out from the covering while watching its hiding place disappear, one gust at a time.

Winds whistle through the trees. Its sound is much different that a summer breeze during which the greenery clings to life.

Crackles of sound energize the mountain trail; Dying leaves tumble across the ground, whisper their last breaths. Their joints show signs of wear, but their multi colored faces shine in their finest hour.

A new resting place, just before they become part of the rich foundation for next spring’s revival.

Blue skies look a deeper blue; shadows seem a bit darker.

A chill is in the air, and it has settled into the joints of the forest. Death is imminent as its season approaches. It’s a relief from this lifetime of struggle. The golden hour can be cruel; its harsh features of age and experience overlap youth’s clean lines of expectancy and hope.

The cycle continues, unrelenting, at times like a forbidden river flowing during the midnight hour, seen by no one, but carving its path none the less.


  1. Beautiful prose and photos. Thank you for encouraging us to pause and enjoy autumn's beauty while remembering it prepares the was for reawakening next spring.

  2. Very poetic, and I love the photos.