November

For years mom kept journals; her mother kept journals; and it struck me tonight that God kept a journal. And not just one or through one method. He wrote...His story in the stars, His commandments on tablets of stone, His poetry in the Psalms, His love for us on parchments, and when that wasn't enough, wrote it all in our hearts. No wonder the book of Romans says we are without excuse if we know Him not.

So, it's legitimate that we journal because we journey - we declare the way so that it won't be forgotten, our descendants might follow and hearts can return home.

And that is why I am going to enter some of my mother's "musings" to parallel her growth with mine (and perhaps yours). Thank you, mom.

Entry #1 - "November" I know - it's not November right now and I should probably save this for the fall - but she entered this at 52 and I am now just two years past that - her descrip caught my attention because I can so relate....."I am in the hot, flaming, colorful autumn of my life - 52 years old."

November (credit Linda Pastan)

It is an old drama,
This disappearance of the leaves,
this seeming death of the landscape.
In a later scene,
or earlier,
the trees like gnarled magicians
produce handkerchiefs
of leaves
out of empty branches.

And we watch.

We are like children
at this spectacle of leaves.
As if one day we too
will open the wooden doors
of our coffins
and come out smiling,
and bowing
all over again.