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Article: Autumn's golden, poignant days. (Starting Point).(Short Story)
- Article from:
- National Catholic Reporter
- Article date:
- October 4, 2002
- Author:
CopyrightCOPYRIGHT 2002 National Catholic Reporter. This material is published under license from the publisher through the Gale Group, Farmington Hills, Michigan. All inquiries regarding rights should be directed to the Gale Group. (Hide copyright information)
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When the wind sweeps through the trees and the autumn leaves drift down, I am often swept into a reverie where I hear my mother's voice calling me as a child, "Come home." It was time for supper and I was off playing somewhere on the farm.
I remember those autumns of my youth, when idyllic summer passed into autumn, bringing a heightened sense of something completed. The trees in the apple orchard drooped like our gray mother cat when pregnant, drooped with the weight of full-term, juicy red apples. The pasture grass lay long and cured to the color of wheat, which in contrast to the brilliant blue sky was breathtaking. The barn, newly painted a rich, blood red ...
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