This is the last post in the series, Whispers in the Chaos.
It seems all my life has been lived for this moment. An amber glow illumines the room, as lullabies waft from the baby monitor. I think about life and how quickly it can all change. One moment the roses were jubilant with color, their coral shades outshining the viridian leaves behind them; a few days of bone-chilling cold and they now hang, lifeless, their petals now paper-thin and ready to turn to dust. The maple tree that provided shade through the scorching summer months now stands naked, its barren branches clothed with only a few leaves hanging on defiantly, refusing to go gently into the winter months.
Nature is preparing for her long rest, for the months when she will neither toil nor grow, but will instead be still. Her quietness unfolds like a warm blanket from the dryer as she prepares for her slumber. This year I feel the call of it too, the melody on the wind that whispers in my ear to rest from my own toil. This song isn't one of joyous celebration, but instead feels unfinished, its minor chords evoking not sadness, but introspection, thoughtfulness. The sky is grey and the wind blows, branches swaying with the tune, but in my heart, I am still.
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