At the Departure of a Loved One, Reflections on the Seasons of Time
Update: 2019-10-04
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This is Marideth Sisco for These Ozarks Hills. Try as I might, although I always yearn for Autumn, I cannot await its coming without realizing that it signals more than anything the end of things. Not everything. But some. Several. And certainly some I am loth to see depart. The balmy days. The long evenings. The garden annuals. And friends. Neighbors. And family. Those are the hardest, and leave us hoping desperately that they all will at least reach their full growth, hopefully their prime or far beyond it if they will, and pass with ease and a sense of life fulfilled, of accomplishing something of worth by one definition or another. We take that deep hope to be something personal between us and those we love, but it is in us all from time immemorial, and is at the seat of most of our legends. The whole bit about John Barleycorn, for instance. Wikipedia deals with that quite tidily. It’s a British folksong. It’s not a real guy. It’s a cereal grain. and so on. Another web site, called
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