Despite the amazing kaleidoscopic fall we enjoyed here in lake country, there is a cool whispering background voice that adds a note of sadness. The trees have become skeletal now, with a smattering of a few stouthearted souls squeezing the last drops from a disappearing star.
Flower beds have pulled up their leaf litter quilts. Leaves have been harassed, corralled, and put into winter pasture. Gutters cleaned, hoses stored, and wood covered. All the minutia that comes with facing the final season.
Of all these chores that I have dutifully done for many years no matter were I have lived. The one here in the northland that is most sobering for me. Pulling in the dock. I know this seems trivial to many, but to this heart it seems like surrendering, giving up and giving in. It’s the last movement of the seasonal symphony.
When the dock is onshore and the last droplets of liquid lake fall onto the dry parched soil it completes it’s final task. Sleep well pal…sleep well.