The window on the north side of my office looks out onto New Pond. It looks much different now than it did just a few short weeks ago when eager fisherman cast their dreams upon the waters; hopeful; expectant; when warm breezes caressed the little ones playing upon it's banks; when water bugs danced their dance upon its stage.

Then came the fall, crisp, vibrant; autumn leaves born to the spring, draped in a symphony of color, their destinies cemented in time, drifting slowly, gently; cast from the safety of their summer refuge, the oak, the maple, the birch; centurions standing watch over the aged pond.

And now I watch, pensive, quiet, as winter's frigid breath trumpets its icy coming; brash; boastful; carrying autumns fallen ones to their final rest beneath the trees; death, and then the spring – rebirth.

Time transforms all things. Nothing escapes its authority.

Seasons change.

Lives change.

Birth

Death

….and the cycle continues.

The correlation between the seasons in nature and the seasons in life has always fascinated me. Spring is the season of new life, regeneration. Plants come forth from the fertile ground, resurrected from the death of winter – expectant - hopeful.

Summer is the growing season. Seeds planted in spring are cultivated, nurtured, becoming strong, healthy. Like a proud parent, we are filled with prospects of great things to come for this seedling, this emerging life, as we prune and shape it, feed and care for it.

Then comes autumn; the seeds lovingly placed in the ground in spring and meticulously tended to throughout the long, hot summer, reach full maturity, harvest time; the time when we reap what we have sown.

Many dread the coming of winter. It can be a time of extremes - cold, wind, dismal gray skies, feelings of loneliness, despair. But if you have done your due diligence; if you have prepared for the onslaught of winter; it can be a time of great joy, great satisfaction.

As I sit here, gazing over at New Pond, a small group of children has gathered on the shore. It appears there are five of them; all boys, about twelve or thirteen years old. They're looking out over the thin film of ice that has formed over the past few days; examining it, hopeful that it will soon be ready for skating, hockey, bonfires; perhaps ice fishing or just hanging out with their friends.

I'll bet they have no idea how fortunate they are. Chances are they pretty much take their care-free, privileged lives for granted, as I did as a kid growing up in Mansfield in the summer of my life.

Don't misunderstand; by saying privileged, I'm not making reference to monetary wealth or social class. I'm merely noting that they are fortunate; fortunate to live in a country where they may live in peace, where opportunity knows only the bounds of their own imaginations and efforts; fortunate to live in a town like Easton, free to be a kid, free to hang out with their friends at New Pond; privileged to live in a town where there are so many who work so diligently to make Easton a great place to raise a family; people like Ken Wood, who works year round on the Yardley-Wood Ice Rink so kids of all ages may have a fun, safe winter experience as well as enjoying the many year round events held at that locale. There are, of course, many others too numerous to mention, whose efforts on behalf of the community are prime in making Easton a great place to live.

And that's the way we want it for our kids; that's the way it should be. We don't want them to have to experience the painful things in life; the tragedies that inevitably come to all of us in time; tragedies like the untimely death of twenty-two year old Easton resident Nicole St. John, in a horrible car accident in February of 2009; tragedies like the recent death of DJ Henry, shot to death by police in Pleasantville, New York.

We all want to protect our children from these experiences, but the truth is -we can't. What we can do is prepare them for life as best we know how. That preparation begins, and is the primary responsibility of parents - family, but is also a function of community. Although the home is the primary source of a child's sense of morality; of right and wrong, responsibility and the like; community – the influence of their broader family – is extremely significant in influencing; shaping their lives.

A community is not a place; a community is people. We are so fortunate – so blessed to be living in a caring community like Easton. Ask the St. John or the Henry families about the value of a caring, supportive community. Ask the family struggling to make ends meet – to put food on the table – to provide for their children. Ask the elderly couple trying to survive on a small fixed income. Ask anyone who has had to seek help and I'll venture to guess their response would be pretty much the same - The people of Easton were there for me.

That's community.

I guess I'd say, metaphorically, I'm in the early fall of my life. I've experienced a lot; a lot of joy; a lot of pain and everything in between; a gamut of emotion and experiences. I've never been one to follow the path set before me. I've generally forged my own trail and, more than once; that has led to failure; but the trails that led to success made the ones that led to failure worth the effort. I've learned from my failures; I've grown; and I don't regret even a single disappointment.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by.

And that has made all the difference.

Excerpt from: The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

I suppose I'm a bit unconventional in many ways. The one thing I can say unequivocally is that my appreciation for life, for each new day, has grown immeasurably. Experience matures the soul.

The sky is growing dark. The boys at New Pond are headed home – and so I leave you.

Until next week……

Peace!