When light fell on the rabbit patch this morning, it was bright and beautiful. The air is colder than it has been- and it ought to be in November. Contrary to my belief, the cold bright air did not shatter when I opened the back door to call the wild kitten for breakfast.
“Jack Frost” has still not made his presence known and so the sweetgum trees still have some green left. This lowly tree is hardly ever found in a yard, purposefully. The sweetgum drops its’ seeds in little round carriers that are unsightly and hurt when you step on them. If you burn sweetgum wood, it snaps and crackles like no other. The sweetgum survives in the woodlands, where man doesn’t care if they grow or not. In the fall, after the frost, the sweetgum “puts on airs” and turns every shade of every color known to autumn. They rival the prideful maple in the country landscape. If you see a patch of woods that are breathtaking with color-thank the sweetgum.
Today, the “government changes the time back” as my grandmother used to say. I suppose that many dread the early twilight. For me, it means soft lights will be turned on earlier in the old farmhouse and supper will be eaten at a more reasonable hour. I will say “good night” to the rabbit patch earlier and the stars will bear witness as usual, so I will not need to complain about that. It is just a little longer than a fortnight that we must endure, after all. Even “the government” can’t change that.
There is no “Sunday Dinner” at the rabbit patch today. Mama and daddy couldn’t come and that just changed every thing. Christian has been providing music for Churches recently too and doesn’t get home til mid afternoon- and so, I have decided to at least make a cake. I plan to put cinnamon in it like it’s free.
It is the eve of the holiday season, now. It is the time just before families gather and twinkling lights are seen on city streets and across fields, too. November softens hearts and can dissolve bitterness if we but allow it. Gratitude is a mighty force.
Every day for a while, in the still and chilly November evening, I will burn leaves where the summer garden used to grow. I am apt to light candles and wrap in a quilt made long ago, afterwards. Cash and Christopher Robin will sleep unencumbered with human notions-and maybe some time in November. . . . the wild kitten will, too .