Twinges in the hinges mark the beginning of cold weather, reminding me that my life has entered its autumn as well. So much to do, so many things to see, touch, taste, feel, learn. But I can only enjoy this one precious moment, so I drink—no, gulp–life greedily.
I take my sketch pad and number two pencil, don a sweater, grab a folding chair and hurry toward the river, a block away. Golden aspens vie with crimson maples for my attention. I settle on the maple, mourning the loss of our autumn flame that, like the river, died this year. Have you ever sketched all those tiny veins in a leaf? Do it now, before your own precious life succumbs to the drought of limited days.
Life force flows freely
through leaves, trunk, into the roots
settles down to sleep.
Note: Autumn Flame is a one type of maple.