Since 2010, I tend to think just a little more deeper. Longer. I ... contemplate.
So, I thought I'd share some of those contemplations with you. From my Southern perspective, if you will.
The Fall of the Year
|The author's mother, Betty Purvis, March 2010 Livestock Festival Parade.|
And so I thought, I too lived for spring.
But, no. I went to Idaho this past week and experienced--for the first time in a while--the fall of the year. That time when we sing, "The autumn leaves, drift past my window ... the autumn leaves of red and gold ..."
I sat at a kitchen table, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot coffee, and watched those gold and red leaves do exactly that. Fall like snow. Spiraling downward. Autumn's dance of praise.
|Author Photo Taken in Idaho, 2012|
During one such autumn, our neighbor watched me from her home across the street. At some point, she and Mother met at the side of our home. Martha Nell declared, "She doesn't belong in this world, does she?"
Mother laughed and said, "She's always got these stories forming in her head ..."
She left me alone to create and act them out.
My father, on the other hand, encouraged me to write ...