[Journal Entry]
Dear Marni,
Do you remember that poem by Helen Hunt Jackson, which we memorized in school, "The golden-rod is yellow/The corn is turning brown". Well, I've seen real autumn splendor for the first time. The woods here are a riot of bright colors: the leaves of the tree seem on fire when the sun shines through them. When I woke up that morning when I first saw them on display like this, I jolted in terror, thinking the forest that surrounds this place had caught fire. But I soon discovered my mistake, and like a child, I've been out roving the woods, gathering leaves like a child and pressing them between the pages of whatever books I can spare. I'll have to share some of the harvest with your Shilo, but for now, I'm off to the kitchen to see if there's some warm cider and pumpkin spice cookies.
Love, your,
Maggi
Do you remember that poem by Helen Hunt Jackson, which we memorized in school, "The golden-rod is yellow/The corn is turning brown". Well, I've seen real autumn splendor for the first time. The woods here are a riot of bright colors: the leaves of the tree seem on fire when the sun shines through them. When I woke up that morning when I first saw them on display like this, I jolted in terror, thinking the forest that surrounds this place had caught fire. But I soon discovered my mistake, and like a child, I've been out roving the woods, gathering leaves like a child and pressing them between the pages of whatever books I can spare. I'll have to share some of the harvest with your Shilo, but for now, I'm off to the kitchen to see if there's some warm cider and pumpkin spice cookies.
Love, your,
Maggi