On Fall, Shakespeare, Life and Death

I love fall. I love the cool temps, the color and the anticipation of change that permeates the cool air.

But three years ago my perception of fall shifted. It was on a beautiful day in October when I got a phone call that my sister had collapsed. Seven weeks later she was gone. I spent most of those seven weeks at her home, helping with her children, and watching the leaves drop one by one.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
   This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
   To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Thanks Shakespeare. You really do say it best. I still love the autumn. I still miss my sister.