Contrast

And then the fog descended.

Even if the trees in the forest are still radiant and gold, I can not see.

The first of the leaves surrendered weeks ago. Now it’s just the hardy that remain, clinging on by a thread, stubbornly stamping their feet in revolt.

But it cannot last. The yellow and gold and red were a temporary delight. Autumn leaves will always fall. The sunlight we bathed in, the colours we rejoiced at were short-term relief to lift our spirits and keep us warm as the cold descended.

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No matter. The Summer is not Summer without the Winter; the Spring buds are not a joy without the naked and brave branches of January.

And soon we will have frosty mornings, snow covered peaks and Christmas lights, the smell of mulled wine and ginger a constant pleasure.

No, no matter. Today might be a sad November day, but we are grateful to you for the contrast you provide. We can hide in you, warm at home, under blankets with books and notepads.

Sad but not the saddest. The saddest will come if the contrast ever ceases and we are left with one long day, the same. Nothing to rejoice in, no changes to comment upon. No, your contrast is the sign that the circle keeps completing and restarting. That life goes on.

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