THE WETLAND POND The wetland pond is shrinking. Dark-chocolate cattails and summer-green milkweed pods burst into the white cotton balls they always do when autumn comes, a cotton field of wisps and puffs that match the color of my hair. The sumacs are changing into the red dress they always wear this time of year, a royal crimson robe, glistening in the morning sun before frost and snow turn their fleeting autumn puffs from regal red to winter white. I see no yellow on the wetland pond beside this dirt road that has no name or dot on anyone’s map. The yellow lilies on the lily-pads have gone to sleep to greet the Spring again if the pond is still here. --GCS, September morning walk September 27, 2021.
O LORD, what are we that You should care for us? mere mortals that You should think of us? We are like a puff of wind; our days are like a passing shadow. Do not cast me off in my old age. (Psalm 144:3,4; 71:9 BCP)