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 It’s a fun time, a magic evening if you’re a kid,
and if you’re a grandpa-type guy, like me, who gets to hand out the
goodies.
But the colors of this sweet evening celebration are orange and
black, and so is October. In another week or so, our deciduous trees
will stand like skeletons against the gray skies of winter, but now
we have the orange and black of fall.
It happens right about sunset each day. The sky turns that eternal
burnt-umber orange and the remaining leaves and the baring branches
of our trees fill the evening with a holy filigree of contrast.
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Oh, it’s not something we need to do anything about.
There’s no need for picture taking or anything. But it’s just
something that we can step outside for … look toward the west
through the lacy pattern of black branches and for a moment, just a
short moment, say to ourselves, “Isn’t that pretty?”
If the paint store could sell me something that looked even close to
that for the walls of the little cabin I have, I’d buy a gallon.
Maybe two.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
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