"Hidden Lake" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The daily temperatures continue to surprise—mild, almost too mild, sometimes running fifteen degrees or more above what the almanac would call “normal.” Yet those of us who dwell in the northwoods carry a quiet knowing: winter is coming. It always does. Yesterday, I gave myself to that truth, readying the wee cottage for snow and cold. There is comfort in preparation, in stacking small assurances against the long nights to come.
Now it is morning. Cloudy, gray, a kind of lingering darkness pressed against the windows. The soft notes of Hanslip’s Violin Concerto drift from the radio, filling the wee cottage with a gentleness that counters the gloom. My coffee mug warms my hands. I glance at the photograph I captured at the little place I’ve come to call “Hidden Lake.”
The reflection of scarlet and gold upon its mirrored surface reminds me of the passage from Ecclesiastes:
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak."
These words, ancient and simple, breathe beyond the confines of doctrine. They lift us from the heavy trappings of organized religion and offer instead a universal truth—one written into the very pattern of the seasons. Autumn itself speaks this language fluently. The red leaves whisper of beauty, but also of letting go. The wind that hustles dry leaves across the forest floor is as haunting as it is inevitable.
In this way, the seasons of nature are mirrors of the seasons of life. We are born, we grow, we learn, we release, and still, we dance again. Golds and reds give way to bare branches and silence, only to be reborn in spring with blossoms and birdsong. Each turn of the cycle is both an ending and a beginning.
It is a reminder, too, of this present gift: today. This one day. The chance to greet it with gratitude, to live it in wonder, to embrace all that will unfold. I take a deep breath and echo the words of Dr. Wayne Dyer: “I will embrace the wonderful opportunity to seize this day and live joyously with appreciation for everything.”
Outside, the gray has softened; even clouds carry light when the morning insists on breaking through. My coffee mug is empty, but the day waits to be written—with the power of intention, with the quiet promise that every season, even this one, is sacred.
“Each season carries its own wisdom; when we listen, we find that life is always beginning again.”
~Wylddane
Now it is morning. Cloudy, gray, a kind of lingering darkness pressed against the windows. The soft notes of Hanslip’s Violin Concerto drift from the radio, filling the wee cottage with a gentleness that counters the gloom. My coffee mug warms my hands. I glance at the photograph I captured at the little place I’ve come to call “Hidden Lake.”
The reflection of scarlet and gold upon its mirrored surface reminds me of the passage from Ecclesiastes:
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak."
These words, ancient and simple, breathe beyond the confines of doctrine. They lift us from the heavy trappings of organized religion and offer instead a universal truth—one written into the very pattern of the seasons. Autumn itself speaks this language fluently. The red leaves whisper of beauty, but also of letting go. The wind that hustles dry leaves across the forest floor is as haunting as it is inevitable.
In this way, the seasons of nature are mirrors of the seasons of life. We are born, we grow, we learn, we release, and still, we dance again. Golds and reds give way to bare branches and silence, only to be reborn in spring with blossoms and birdsong. Each turn of the cycle is both an ending and a beginning.
It is a reminder, too, of this present gift: today. This one day. The chance to greet it with gratitude, to live it in wonder, to embrace all that will unfold. I take a deep breath and echo the words of Dr. Wayne Dyer: “I will embrace the wonderful opportunity to seize this day and live joyously with appreciation for everything.”
Outside, the gray has softened; even clouds carry light when the morning insists on breaking through. My coffee mug is empty, but the day waits to be written—with the power of intention, with the quiet promise that every season, even this one, is sacred.
“Each season carries its own wisdom; when we listen, we find that life is always beginning again.”
~Wylddane
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