The daylight has seeped from the world. Sunday winds its way towards its close. A lovely day it was though. The birdhouse is now completed (slightly incorrectly - what else is new!) and its fresh coat of paint is drying. Images of our morning saunter through the forest please my inner eye in reflection. The general swath of dull brown this time of year belied a rainbow of colours if one was to walk slow enough to see. Red berries and dogwood twigs punctuated vibrant green mosses and paler green grasses fading thru yellow. Purple clover played saucily at the base of white birch trees. A few yellow and orange leaves clung to branches fluttering in wisps of a breeze. Black and white chickadees flitted through barren brown branches of mighty oaks. Pale mushrooms nestled close to their bases for security. The Queen Anne's Lace retained its dignity in its delicateness along leaf covered pathways. The smells of a forest alive as it settled down for its long winter's nap was a balm for a seeking soul. How can one not find their breathe in such a serene moment.
I must even share a brief epiphany if you will as we ambled up the last hill towards the parking lot. A mighty oak tree stood off on its own in the grasses to the right of the path. At some point it had split in two, but seemed to still be struggling on. I pointed the Grandfather out to the girls and commented that when it died it would help to feed the rest of the forest, therefore living on and fulfilling purpose. The thought struck a cord inside myself as well. I likened Brad to my Grandfather image, my oak tree example. Brad has died, but he continues to feed my soul and strengthen me. He provided for me so that I may grow and flourish. That is where I am now. I am slowly recovering from the loss of my dear oak tree, but being nourished by what is still left behind. It struck me as a beautiful image and truth. Perhaps it might for others as well.