C.S. Sloan's Integral Strength

  In Autumn When the Leaves Fall and the Sandbag is Carried        “What should be sad in the falling of spent leaves, of leaves that have decked themselves in bridal hues to keep a tryst with death?  The leaves are glad enough.  They spiral down from their parent twigs, and golden and red they are, to carpet the loam of which they must become a part.  If wind drives over them they are blithe to dance in the hazy sunshine of autumn.  The leaves are not saddened by this most natural of fates.  In death is found rebirth, and the tree lives.  Nothing is lost in nature, nothing wasted.  These leaves shall, in a manner of speaking, break from their waxen buds again or come back to us as flowers… Yet the spent leaves sadden us, and the bare boughs touch our hearts.  Something or somebody is going away, unseen, silent, wistful, and on a certain morning we shall wake to know a loss, to feel an absence.” ~Ben Hur Lampman, writing in the Portland “Oregonian,” 1925      My favorite seasons for li