I kept noticing the gold and orange on the trees today. Striking against the wool-gray sky, they shone out like a circus tent in an industrial park. I caught my breath over and over, knowing that the sky was whispering threats against my beloved Fall. "Snow."
And now the fat, heavy, rain-wet flakes are falling and congregating in bewildered heaps on the grass, saying, "Gosh, I feel like we just left..."
Winter is too quiet, yet. I am still learning to tend the fire of summer in my heart, so I can be warm all through the darkness. I'm not ready.
Sara is a storyteller, writer, artist, teacher, wife, mother, and singer living in Minnesota. I write about storytelling, and about living a life with stories.