Sunrise With Fog

Sunrise With Fog
Every Morning is New

Friday, October 14, 2011

Time Flows Gently Into Autumn

This concept of time continues to capture my imagination with its powerful purpose and its illusive nature. A day or two ago summer was moving toward its grand finale with the late blooming purple ironweed and stands of magnificant goldenrod smiling in the morning sunlight. I turn around and the mornings arrive with a distinct chill. The valleys fill with layers of fog moving along the natural curve of the riverbed to lend a surreal misty element to a soft morning. It seems fall combines the brilliant flourish of a summer's end with a softening of the surroundings to prepare us for winter's harsh glare. These mornings can be so beautiful as to cause one to linger at this window of time.
As summer slips through my fingers as quicksand the hourglass of time is being refilled with a new crisp atmosphere.

There is a sense of urgency. Something of longing stirs my heart as I remember times of preparation in decades past. As a little girl autumn was accompanied by the arrival of a load of firewood and the time of staking wood into neat rows when my dad got home from work. At that time fall was a step of preparation for the comforting fires in the wood stove later on when I would walk home from school and stand by the stove to get warm, first front then back, and feel the radiant heat clear to my bones.

Fall meant a time of outdoor activity; of taking Sunday afternoon drives through surrounding hills to delight in the turning trees. Now as I drive from the mountaintop and travel country roads the sumac is shining in bright red along the road and the goldenrod catches the sunshine to make my heart glad. I think of some years in the high country of Colorado when the aspen were at their peak and whole mountains were ablaze with that gold that contrasted with the deep greens of the fir trees.

We just have to enjoy each of these days as it quickly passes by and to celebrate those images from other days in the realms of memories of another time. Such are the yarns of many colors stored in the heart through which we delight in the previousness of God throughout the span of years given to us for His glory.