At the empty nest turning point of middle age, something arose in me, and my journal became full of entries about being alone. I discovered that two entries written 10 years apart were almost identical. I had not yet learned to dignify "alone" with the name of Solitude, but I knew what I wanted, what I needed—as if my life was depriving me of something as essential as the air I breathed.
The announcement of autumn comes in
Silence. Listen!
The atmosphere is muted. Listen!
The yellow, red, gold-brown leaves rustle,
A few green ones peak here and there.
They tell of another season gone
... another season coming.
Another season of blustery cold winds,
snow and ice. A time with only
the peep of the sparrow.
Another turn of the wheel of Time.
Another turn of the wheel of our lives.