A Paragraph in the Story

I hold my baby close as she falls asleep. The house has only just fallen into hush. Like leaves shaken from the trees bough only to float like silent feathers to the mute ground below.

Downstairs still slightly trembles from the noise and chaos of only a few minutes before. My toddler is still talking to her Teddy bears in the next bedroom. Soon her little conversation will begin to mumble into an opened mouthed slumber.

My husband is playing his acoustic guitar downstairs....mmm a new song I think?

My ten year old is knitting the last rows of a scarf for her nearly four year old sister in thick, soft pink heather stained wool, cross legged in concentration on the pine toybox (one of many:0).

Only 30 minutes ago the house seemed to be afloat on unsteady waters. Bobbing up and down with the tides of plates clattering, babies grumbling, stairs thudding with footsteps climbing, voices singing, a pair of wobbly legs dancing .

The whirlwind gathering speed underfoot, skidding up the particles of dust by the window. Illuminated by the gentle glow of another day done.

...Oh yes, did I forget to mention, five little baby rabbits attempting to evade their bedtime also! Scurrying around in the kitchen, hiding in all the corners, trails of brittle hay scattered over carpet and tiles!

An over-tierd toddler, redcheecked and clinging to my jeans clambouring, clamouring, wilting in the embers of a busy afternoon.

Carried up to her cot in the safe cradle of her Daddy's arms. Strong and gentle.

The light outside is ebbing away.

Tommorrow morning will again be gilded in autumn's golden shoon.

For Autumn is a season of contrasts. A season of colours.

A season of days (or parts of days) awash with rain while the other days recline and bathe in subdued, dewy sunlight.

Last traces of Summer's watercolour collide into the thick oils of falling leaves, curled into dried orange peels along the pavements and pathways.

This is both a season of peace, and a season of unpredictability.

A season of briskness and expectancy and a season of lingering wonderment.

A season of hopes,

A season of dreams,

A season of days undone and melded together into one.

A season of fragments brought together like a window of stained glass.

It is the season of this chapter of my life ... and I am enjoying the story.