From the breakfast table I spy the young oak turning yellow. Its acorns are pretty well cleaned off now by the squirrels and jays. 
The squirrel has done his business furtively, quietly, scampering back and forth from stash to tree, day after day.
The jays, on the other hand, have squabbled and fought over their share,
leaving a mess of caps on the front walk…
Meanwhile I have done my own bit of squirreling things away-- gathering pine needles for winter-time basket making. Presumably one day these foot-long needles will stop falling and winter will have come. I’ll be armed for long evenings…
I’m collecting dainty scotch pine cones too. Who knows, they might be just the thing for Christmas décor…
The air is cold this morning, the sun still warm. Plums and pears that will not keep I’ve turned to butter—brown and spicy…
And then there are those roadside apples I spy every time we cycle by. We headed out to pick them today after our ride. Yay! We beat the bears to this tree.
And we shall have pie (I’m actually gobbling it as I post this), and sauce, and apples to munch as we watch the days shorten and whisper that winter is coming…
There’s a hint of melancholy in this turning of the seasons.
Thank God for flowers boldly blooming still!
While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease. Gen.8:22
--LS
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: Eccl.3:1
