autumn

This weekend we picked out pumpkins and chrysanthemums for the front porch. Glancing over various shades and textures, I was so worried that the steady drizzle would become a downpour that I hardly took notice. My daughter was struck by the abundance the farmer's market had to offer. I was preoccupied with thoughts of getting out of the rain.

Tinges of yellow and rust dot the skyline. The leaves are starting to fall. As creation prepares to hibernate, it erupts into a final array of glory; a memory to take with us into the months of short days and long nights. I drive by without giving it much thought, focused instead on whatever destination or task lies before me.

As a child I carefully gathered leaves from the maple tree in our front yard, selecting various sizes and shades. Mama watched over my shoulder, gently guiding me as I pressed the iron over the sheets of wax paper to seal my treasures. I was in awe of the bright colors, how they burst forth in a blaze and suddenly vanished. A little like my childhood. A little like my sense of wonder.

Perhaps I've seen too many autumns. I've become apathetic to the brilliance of the gold dappled soybean fields, the distinct smell of freshly dug peanuts, the stark white of cotton bolls against their deep green leaves. I've been mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of colors emanating from the screens which surround me. Looking too hard to see if I recognize friends behind face coverings. Blinded by political posters, life-sized grim reapers, and other ghoulish decor that litters the yards around me.

Autumn is a time to gather. I watched my grandfather gather peanuts each year. I gathered ingredients with Mama to make the Thanksgiving meal. My family gathered together. Children cramped around card tables, eager to eat and go back outside. Adults lingering over conversation around the "grown up" table.

Autumn is also a time of endings. Sultry summer nights morph into crisp, cool evenings. Harvests are reaped and taken to market. Pages of the calendar dwindle.

Autumn, for as much as I have loved it, breaks my heart just a little. It reminds me that I am frail and finite. I ache with knowing that I will never make another pie with Mama. That I will never again ride on the tractor with my uncle and talk about the meaning of life while the giant machine beneath us overturns the earth and its bounty. That another year wanes. Sometimes it is knowledge too heavy for me to bear, but I trust its weight is preparing me for the eternal weight of glory that will someday be mine.

It is not for me to know how many more Autumns I will witness. Just as the leaves age and die, so too will I. Before it falls to the ground, the leaf is infused with dazzling color which points to a Creator most glorious. 

And so Autumn brings hope.  

As for man, his days are like grass;
he flourishes like a flower of the field;
for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
and its place knows it no more.
But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him,
and his righteousness to children's children,
to those who keep his covenant
and remember to do his commandments.

-Psalm 103:15-18