Today, on my last birthday that will be sixty –something, I think of the gift of time, and the changes that come in this time in my life. In this quiet hour as I sit looking at my garden changing into its autumn dress, I consider what the dormant fruit trees and absence of bright blooms says about these growing things. They are different now from March or May or the heat of August, but those of root and permanence survive their winter and will bring heartspring with leaf and bud, even new fruit in a few months.
In the garden seasons I see beginning and changing and, yes, some endings. But the story of the seasons begins a new verse with its cycle of renewal and rebirth. In my autumn self my roots remind me of this larger cycle of hope and grace. I love my November birthday!