The subtleties of fall. In the morning, we walk down roads and we talk, carefully remarking and noting the vague hints of color that start dotting the leaves, matching the coats of birds and other creatures that blend into their warm, inviting tones. Clusters of oranges, yellows and reds have started to spread from the centers, but you barely notice them bleeding from leaf to leaf until one morning the entire tree has been completely immersed in the colors of autumn.
Fall creates a nostalgia. There’s an inherent sadness to the bright and blinding richness of the tapestry that reminds me of all the older, former autumns, and all of the older, former places I lived them in. My father was fond of the fall, and always described it as “a time when things slowed down and got back to normal” and although that doesn’t ring true for many, I think I understand what he meant. Maybe it’s a time that helps us understand how to embrace change and remember the moments when we clearly saw the slow, intricate movements of God at work in the fabric of our lives, overcoming us like vague hints of color dotting the leaves, barely noticeable at first, but eventually changing us to reflect the season.
And to reflect Him.