The First of November

In the dim sunlight of Fall some red, yellow, brown leaves cling to the nearly barren branches of the Oaks. The sky is gray, but still in the height of afternoon, between the chill gusts of wind, a meager warmth lingers. I close my eyes and face the sunlight and feel its gentle touch upon my cheeks. On opening my eyes I am welcomed with color. All is quiet and in the stillness comes a peace. The simplicity and wholeness of this gift fills me with awe. It is good, and right, and holy.