Continuity

As I walked my dog this morning, I looked ahead at the trees, now leafless, brown and tan against a slate blue sky. Fall was here and winter would be settling in very soon. The landscape would no longer be green and brown, but an endless blanket of white.

The trees in back were empty, too, save for a handful of birds perched on the top branches. Funny; their songs seemed less mournful, more similar to their spring songs than the type of music I would expect to hear on this cold fall day. It made me think of a conversation I had yesterday about the short days. We noted how the sun was setting earlier, but both agreed that even in this month with the shortest day of the year, one could look forward to knowing that by the end of the month, the days would be getting longer.

Perhaps this is an apt metaphor for life. Not a series of deaths and births, but a continuous changing of days; some shorter, some longer, None really worse than the other - just different.