Winter is now slowly swallowing Autumn up. Most of the trees have shrugged off all their color. Its a good thing—I think we might all just rupture if we had it like that for too long. There are certain glories I think humans can only have in doses.
But glory remains, even though the color has not. The funny thing about beauty is that there is no one sort. Autumn beauty twists into winter beauty–which can be just as overwhelming.
The colors this year were fiery and full. Orange burning and yellow bursting and red smoldering. Butl I have been noticing this autumn that
there is something
quite
fine
about
brown.
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We noticed the smallest things–
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized — as ’twere.
-emily dickinson
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