It is a windy day. Last autumn leaves are fluttering about. It is nearly winter, and for the first time in weeks I am sitting on the veranda. For Linda’s #SoCS my hand fell on Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens.The page the book fell open on, had this highlighted:
“Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar. Reflecting sunlight, they swirled and sailed and fluttered on the wind drafts.”
How apt. I felt like the dead of winter for nearly eight weeks. Felled down by a mysterious chronic cough and wheezing chest. Never in my 60 odd years had I felt so tired and listless. Felt like giving up. But as with many things, the discomfort and frailty has passed.
Energy levels are up, and I could wander in the garden looking at the late autumn leaves spiralling downward in the wind.
I felt the soft warmth of the sun, and it struck me. The living moment is now. Not tomorrow! In this moment under the African winter sun, leaves falling from the syringa trees, birds flying high in the ice blue sky. Like autumn leaves my heart soared.
Best wishes from beautiful late autumn day full of promise on a South African bushveld farm just south ofthe Tropic of Capricorn.