Our walks are almost like listening to music no one else can hear. The other day, which happened to be quite frosty, Katrina and I decided to go for a walk. There’s an old farm road that was once used as the only entrance to our property and seems to be slowly disappearing back into the earth. This has always held our interest. Someone once lived along this road. The long abandoned farmhouse is now gone and the only traces left are its foundation stones. If you stand quite still, you can imagine that once children played here and filled the air with laughter and song. But now it is quiet, except for the music of our imaginations.
The fence line is all grown up with mature trees, and in this particular line of dense vegetation we found a couple of persimmon trees. Katrina reminded me of the tasty fruits we had discovered by accident last year. Could they still be available? It didn’t appear likely. The weather had turned quite cold and the temperatures had already dipped into the teens. The landscape was now a mix of browns and grays, with the last evidence of autumn’s riotous colors faded and muted. It seemed that life had bundled itself up in preparation for winter and the dark days to come.
As I write, it’s close to the shortest day of the year, and Christmas will soon be upon us with its festivities and lights. But that day, nature didn’t appear to be celebrating as much—that was, until we suddenly rediscovered the persimmon trees. Katrina clapped her hands in joy and our dogs danced, wagging their tails, for no reason known to them but for our happiness in what we just found. Above us, it was as if nature had decorated with orange Christmas balls all over the tree! Reaching up, Katrina pulled a branch low enough for us to pick the gift of the sweetest-tasting persimmons we could imagine. Our hearts sang praises to music that only we could hear! We gave thanks for our harvest of sweetness!