You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. On Sunday, September 27th, 2009 at 11:43 am and is filed under Dog Journal.
What better time to let go than with the leaves? “Death is a part of life,” she used to say. A gardener, in tune with the seasons, she probably preferred fall. Spring maybe when bulbs were just popping up or a sweltering summer day when kids were whooping and running through sprinklers. Still, I wish my mom had chosen a different time. In his children’s book for all ages, “The Fall of Freddie the Leaf,” he sees death through the eyes of Freddie, a leaf who sees his friends fall from the tree daily, and his wise friend Daniel, who assures him that the “season of death” is just as natural as Spring and Summer. The poem is available in it's sung form on Youtube. Title taken from the poem, by Patrick Kavanagh. Written after TRF aired so old and very AU. Leo Buscaglia makes me feel a little better about fall and grief. Let grief be a fallen leaf, a sherlock fanfic FanFiction Author's note: Please heed warnings, especially for suicide and death. With every gust and falling leaf, I wanted to say, “Don’t go. The first turning leaves and yesterday’s rain proved me right. And gives us new found comfort, when we on Him. He leaves the fragrant blossoms, and lovely forest, green. For he is in His heaven, and though He takes away, He always leaves to mortals, the bright sun's kindly ray. Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on, You can cry and close your mind.
But still we have God's promises, in every robin's song. There’s something about autumn and grief: too closely aligned for a smooth sail through. Another Leaf Has Fallen, Another leaf has fallen, another soul has gone. Elsewhere, the European Parliament is getting locked down and the MEPs are about to get locked out. Exiled in Brussels and unable to return home for the funeral, Mick remembers his late mother with a couple of interesting stories. And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at. Edging up on the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death, I had an uneasy feeling. Mick's 96-year-old mother Maureen has sadly just passed away. That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue I saw danger, yet I walked along enchanted way.
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