the hinderance

Alright . . . . still no pictures . . . . I can take a hint Blogger. The pictures I was 'trying' to post were of Dream 'helping' Heather sort through a wicker basket of yarn. 'Maybe' you'll get to see them at a later date . . . . 'maybe' not . . . . . { shrugging} . . . .

As I sit here typing through the wee hours I'm listening to the winds howl around the house and envision what the ground will look like after sunrise in a few hours. A leaf covered earthscape . . . . . half-dressed trees and bushes . . . . leaves of many colours intermingled with the green and brown of the earth, and the occasional cheerful bright splash of summer bravely holding on . . . . beauty and gladness and sadness mixed . . . . as the remnants of summer make their final dance through the air. Time does not hold still . . . . . changes are an inevitable . . . . and though we, as human beings, would like to stop them at certain times in our lives to hold onto whatever or whoever is so dear to us right then, they slip through our lives and are gone . . . . . The dance of life is as the dance of the leaves going before the wind, of which you cannot see but can readily view his work . . . .