It’s morning. The pale sun creeps up as winter attempts a coup to the last bit of autumn. The colors of the leaves are muted now, from gold to mustard, brilliant orange to an orange gouache, and flaming red to deep burgundy. The leaves lie on the ground, stripped from the branches that held them from a hard, cold rain during the night. There are some leftover puddles in low areas, but leaves create more puddles of color that swirl and eddy in the breeze. They will dance with color until the cold weather turns them brown and crackly to skitter around the garden with a scratching noise.
It’s a day to ponder life. It’s a day to feel the slowing pulse of the garden and plan for gardens in the spring. The garden hasn’t lost its beauty. Regarding the maiden, the mother, and the crone archetype, this is the time of year for the crone, showing us her bones and her wisdom. She prepares us for the maiden in the spring.
