October 22, 2005

Our farm has been changing dramatically over the past 4 weeks, each day moving a little closer to the reality of winter around the corner. Most of the fruit which is not residing in our freezer has fallen from the trees, and the walnut husks are hanging lonesome and bulbous as a windstorm pulled most leaves to the ground last week.

Readying for winter's sleep is quite a glamorous affair for some trees on the farm--they are clothed in rich crimson and gold like the most alluring and ostentatious negligee. However the majority of tree leaves turn drab yellow or brown, as if donning a practical flannel nightgown or an oversized sweatshirt without any pretense of grandeur. Even the Haflingers laze about, comfortable in their soft winter woolie coats and feathered slippers, happy with their gift of hay. I'm envious of their contentment though I prefer fluffy flannel myself.

This has not been a leisurely autumn, instead full of turbulence and fretfulness, rushing full force toward the eventual quiet of winter. Like so many others, I'm ill at ease with this transition, as unready as a small child who resists the approach of bedtime, even when exhausted to the point of meltdown. It takes someone to sit down with me to read a good bedtime story and to sing a soft lullaby. Instead I keep leaping up, eyes propped open, pushing on, with "miles to go before I sleep".

The time to sleep will come, all too soon. Just as a storm brings the leaves to the ground, so shall I be laid to rest, and restored when the time is right. Maybe I should think about wearing that bright red nightie.

Emily

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