every seed must die before it grows
autumn. it always arrives slowly, giving small foreshadowings of itself as the summer sunshine blazes own, sadly (well sadly for me at least) keeping all clouds at bay. then one morning, you wake up and the air has a scent to it. a sort of pleasant weight, like a down blanket. it envelopes you in an internal sort of warmth that can only come when there is a back-bite in the breeze: the chill is warming, one of nature’s paradoxes.
the subtle difference in the day is confusing and cloaked in your own disbelief, until late afternoon, when you find yourself in an embrace of amber, a mesmerizing display of shadows accenting every angle of any view. the light looks delicious, how you long to drink it in.
now breathing has a taste. your lungs are both filled with crispness and a delicate brush of spices (perhaps it is just the anticipation of pumpkin pie?). every changing leaf, slowly drained of life, becomes like a spring flower, a returning promise of the beauty our Creator provides to our every moment.
clouds hang around longer, they don’t flee with the dawn. sometimes they stay all day, giving cause to look up, giving an accent to the sun’s molten hues. the wind is a consistent feature, smoothing out the earthy scents and bringing with it a velvet touch as it traces its path, across your face, through the branches of the trees. the leaves dance upon the hints of coming winter.
if you are a melancholy soul (ahem), you find that you are finally home. perhaps you thought the season of melancholy was winter…not the case. it is the promise of coming leafless trees, the slow transformation of vibrancy going into hibernation, that is the true seasonal-language of the melancholy.
the fading light of the autumn day, seems to hum a somber tune. it lays thick in a fuzzy, comforting way, as a last burning ember of a campfire soon to be snuffed out. autumn provides a flood of such examples that there are gifts and great beauty at every stage of existence, even at the dusk of life.