Puddleglum is C.S. Lewis’ Eyeore.
I’m trying hard to see beauty in the world today, but my heart is heavy and my mind finds it all rather futile. Fall is my favorite season, yet so far all I see is death and destruction… and the stubborn will of some to keep going despite the odds, to find beauty, to bloom where they are planted and to do so in adverse conditions.
Keep championing the cause for the downtrodden. Give hope to those who have no hope. The one who receives your encouragement might be struggling more than you know.
Even Eyeore and Puddleglum need a pep talk now and then.
Spokalulu 
I am not one that hates autumn but my favorite time of year is summer. I get mildly depressed (maybe not depressed but mourning the passing of summer).
A big hug being sent your way Karen. How is SD? How that his strength is returning.
No matter who the “leader” would have been, all of this death, destruction and suffering would have still happened. But at least you’d know that others would be fighting to make it better… not add to the pain. I am so heartsick to see what’s happening with out beautiful neighbours to the south. I hope this is only a blip in the whole scheme of things. But what a hell of a crappy blip it is.
How are your men doing?
Stay strong, my friend. ❤
I am right there with you, feeling the world’s sorrows and seeking for beauty. Your photos here do show exquisite beauty.
I don’t know if this will help, but here it is.
Occasional Mercies
By John Donne
God hath made no decree to distinguish the seasons of His mercies;
In Paradise, the fruits were ripe the first minute,
And in heaven it is always autumn;
His mercies are ever in their maturity:
We ask our daily bread,
And God never says:
You should have come yesterday.
He never says,
You must ask again tomorrow:
But today, if you will hear His voice,
Today he will hear you.
He brought light out of darkness,
Not out of a lesser light:
He can bring thy summer out of winter,
Though thou have no spring;
Though in the ways of fortune or understanding or conscience
Thou have been benighted till now,
Wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed,
Damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till now:
Now God comes to thee,
Not as in the dawning of the day,
Not as in the bud of the spring,
But as the sun at noon,
As the sheaves in harvest.
All occasions invite His mercies,
And all times are His seasons.
From a Sermon preached upon Christmas Day, in the Evening, 1624
This is beautiful. Thank you!
Glum is a good word for it. On the homefront things are sad here today. I’m trying to find little beauty moments to counter the sad.