There's a ladybug crawling up a forlorn looking hosta stalk just outside my window. Probably wondering where the heck all the leaves went so it could at least hide someplace instead of it's brilliant orange and black colors shouting for a wayward bird to snatch it up! Just a few short weeks ago the tree's were bathed in awesome reds, golds, and maroons, boasting of their beauty. Today they stand naked, exposed to the world with branches like bony fingers reaching to the sky. The carpet of dried up leaves seems to be their message of revenge for the embarassing position they are in.
Isn't this an example of how our lives tend to unfold? We bud out in the spring of life, then in our summer explode into fullblown leaves, not only showing our strength but having a meaningful purpose, and then comes the fall. We strive for that last big hurrah, our fullblown beauty is exhibited, all our hard work is screaming to be noticed before the winter sets in. Nothing more to prove...we're proud of where we are now and our colors show it. Then comes the winter.
How stately and proud we stand, even though our outward appearance is diminished, our roots go deep within. We spread our gnarled fingers outward and upward as if in prayer, hoping our influence and legacy for our children and grandchildren will be remembered apart from what is displayed in this old body. Yes, we still have a purpose...and regeneration will take place.
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Yeah, now I'm convinced. There's a book in you. (See comment from previous post!)
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