Conceived in the dark of winter, nurtured in utero through spring, and sheltered from the hateful heat of summer, she came into the world on a lovely fall day.
Being born in the season of crisp mornings, warmly spicy afternoons replete with gently falling leaves, she was rained upon by buttery browns, sunshine yellows, and relishing reds. She felt secure.
The world, for now, was at rest.
Yet the frantic wet of winter was on the horizon. She could see it in the dark clouds rushing the winds, swirling the colors, battering them, muting them.
But she, being wrapped snugly in soft blankets, held close and warmed by her mother's milk, grew.
Her life mirrored the seasons.
She, being born in the season of culmination, a child of the harvest, reaped much in her life.
Children, friends, husbands.
But it was only in the Autumn of her life where she came to be fully, luxuriantly colored herself. She quit listening to those who prescribed for her. She claimed her own path.
Soon, she could be seen running with reckless abandon, strewing the richly colored leaves behind her. Racing the winter wind. Daring it to catch her.
"I love you all. You are near and dear to me, but I too do count. Will you run with me?"
They could only watch from the sidelines.
She threw them kisses.
She danced in the fluttering leaves of her imagination, gathering them about her in nicely rounded mounds. The fallen leaves of a lifetime.
She screamed into the world, "This is me! Take me as I am! All of you!"
She stomped, she kicked, she trampled the autumn leaves until all was small and quiet again.
She held herself close, wrapped herself in earthen browns, careened and cavorted in glorious golds, then arrived at her party dressed in her own charismatic crimson.
This is a Magpie Tale. Check out the other fabulous authors at:
Thanks, Willow, for another fabulous opportunity to write, and my FAV time of year. YEAH!!!!