Quote of the Day:  Most people are on the world, not in it — have no conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about them — undiffused, separate, and rigidly alone like marbles of polished stone, touching but separate. John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir, (1938), page 320. Found at Quotations of John Muir.

Wild raspberries grow in my backyard.
Photo by my son Charlie.
The above quote by John Muir seems so true and so sad. I hope that I am a person lives in the world, experiencing, seeing, smelling, and tasting all that it has to offer. As I wrote in my post, Summer is slipping away, I feel those pangs of one season ending. It’s more than the cooler nights, the changing color on the leaves. And, yes, here in Minnesota we’re already seeing autumn making her appearance. The Sumac is vibrant red, and as we took a ride up the North Shore on Sunday, we saw a few Maple trees in all their crimson glory, and a few Birch trees turning yellow. I also feel the  pangs of my boys growing up. My oldest son is home for just a few weeks, then back to college. This evening, I wanted to capture the moment of all my big boys playing in the yard with the neighbor boys. It was so sweet, tossing a ball, running around, laughing. I will embed that mental picture in my memory.
And, as I feel the season changing, I can also look ahead to a new school year, my piano studio filling up again, teaching more classes, getting back into my play-writing (I have at least three plays screaming to be written), and checking the schedules and line-up of shows at the theatres where I write reviews.
Charlotte’s Web is the opening show at The Children’s Theatre Company in Minneapolis. I am so excited for this classic to come to life on their stage with original music and their fine cast and crew.
I’ll write more about our ride up the North Shore on Ride off the Page. Click over there later this week to find out why Mr. Happy is not happy!
Go. Create. Inspire!
Journaling Prompt:  What are you looking forward to in the next season (of the year or life)?