Outside autumn is struggling to maintain its fading beauty amidst a swirl of wind and fallen leaves. Unlike spring with its hopeful youthfulness, summer with its lush allurements, and winter with its beautiful austerity, autumn stands alone—a transitory and poignant dichotomy, a blazing and flamboyant display of brilliance amidst inevitable decay.

Inside in a dimly lit room an old woman sits in her favorite chair, long ago shaped to her form. A comfortable chill fills the room. She sits quietly, observing her thoughts and memories of past successes and failures, joys and disappointments, tragedies and comedies, loves that blossomed and loves that never were, family and friends who have come and gone and those few who are still here, opportunities taken and opportunities lost, triumphs and disappointments, youth and old age. She smiles to herself, knowing that her life contains the residue of both joy and sadness. Not enough joy to long for the sweet past and not enough sadness to cause bitterness or regret. She is completely in the moment and at peace. Her life has become a tapestry that has been woven of both sorrow and joy, and imbued with the poignancy of every moment and each personal encounter, and containing an awareness of the ephemeral nature of life in which the bitter and the sweet melt into a feeling of gratitude, quiet contentment, inner peace, and holiness.