I’m a Fall baby, September to be exact, I love my colors. Reds. Browns, and yellows. The falling of leaves and the crisp morning air, they make the summer seem distant when you start to see the transitions.
Harvest days are ending, winter is drawing near, yet in between is surely the most special time of year.
They call it Indian Summer, and it seems to fit the bill, for it’s as if the Lord took a feathered brush and painted all the hills.
Now as I sit contented, atop of one of these, a book in hand to pass the time, the sound of a gentle breeze,
I can almost imagine an Indian child upon this mountaintop, looking down at the land of her forefathers, lost within her thoughts
For in every persons lifetime some heartache may occur, but on these hills in quiet solitude, God helps us to endure.
So I say that the eyes are a window, beauty is found within the soul, and upon the hills of Autumn, that are strewn with red and gold.