It's a beautiful little stretch of tree-lined street, old 4 square classic homes with ivy running up the brick and quintessential americana.
Today I heard one lone bird chirping away. I wanted to tell him to fly south. He's here alone by now. He didn't seem to care - even in the rain. How I longed for his apathy and clear disregard for time and schedule, blatant attitude towards cold rain.
I noticed the leaves were off the sidewalk and cleared out. I feel like I watch the seasons revolve around my window each day, but being out in it, smelling the cold, crisp air you feel that winter will soon be setting in. The gray cast with a few orange remainders on the trees seems like a visible indication that summer is long past.
I wish summer lasted all year. Even fall. But I admit, it's winter I loathe.
I like the snow, freshly fallen. And the spirit of Christmas... But I'll forgo the rest, thank you.
I try to take in the beauty of the leaves to remind myself that out of the four seasons, fall is my favorite. It offers a tangible color wheel like no other season. But summer, like the leaves that were on the sidewalk last week, all of it just soon escapes one's memory. Blown over and disremembered.
That's when I will continue to count my blessings and quietly remember each season offers a different kind of beauty. Maybe like the winter bird that stays around and continues to sing his song despite his changing seasons.
