I had been going to write about deep point of view today. Until I went outside. On a perfect fall day, all cerebral activity vanished and I had only emotion.
The bounty of this earth stirred my soul to gratitude and wonder. Look at this little apple tree, laden with fruit. And these, boxes and boxes of apples from the Golden Delicious. We haven’t even touched the Northern Spy or the Ida Red.
My heart overflows. I must share–both the fruit and the feeling.
Not content with apples, I look about and see the fuchsia glowing in the sunlight.
Dahlias burn red like fire and shine white like ice.
The last roses of summer perfume the air.
Fall, the season of harvest, overwhelms with its abundance, its extravagant grace.
Over the past week, we’ve heard a lot about climate change and the fragility of our planet. It is a cosmic topic, perhaps requiring an astronaut’s view to comprehend. But I can see the bounty of my orchard, the beauty of my garden, and tremble for them.
Guess I did write about deep point of view after all. Mine. No skimming the surface here with words like “she worried,” or “he felt.” This page holds emotion with a capital E. That’s what a romance reader wants in our books.
Canadian Thanksgiving occurs this weekend. It is one of my favourite holidays, celebrating harvest and the abundance of the land. During our stretch of sunshine at the end of September I got into Thanksgiving mode a little early.
We picked pumpkins,
and gathered seed for next year’s flowers.
We were dazzled by dahlias and
enchanted with a late blooming rose.
My world teemed with abundance. My soul stretched and soared in gratitude.
Then, to top it all off, we attended a stage production of “Glorious” by Peter Quilter. This is the story of Florence Foster Jenkins, the world’s worst opera singer.
And she was a terrible singer. She tackled the most demanding coloratura repertoire and murdered it in spectacular fashion. I couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently her real life audience laughed too, but they loved her and she was invited to sing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Why?
I believe it was because of her exuberant joy. She loved music, loved singing. It brought her unparalleled happiness and she wanted to share that happiness with the world. I think she felt the same way on stage as I feel when I gloat over the harvest from my garden. We are uplifted, exultant and full of joy.
At this time of thanksgiving, I wish all my readers overwhelming joy, the kind that cannot be contained in a safe, conventional life. I wish you the exuberance of my dahlias and the bursting enthusiasm of Florence Foster Jenkins.