Most of the trees are denuded, bare branches exposed. I’ve
gathered and bagged thousands of leaves, left to mould and enhance the soil. But
still there remain hillocks and swirls of once golden leaves, now beginning to
decay into slimy mounds. This is the autumn detritus Doug has always disliked.
I love autumn for the magnificent rich colours and bursts of
vibrant glory. Now, as the symphony of colour quietens, drifts to the ground
and turns slippy and black, I’m not such a fan.
And so, too, with human seasons. There is a glory and a
peace in those who live long. A wisdom and a contentment. Until long years overwhelm
the senses, the health, and the mind. Watching and waiting then becomes a grief
of conflicting emotions and prayers. I turn my eyes to the hills. My help is in
the name of the Lord.
For all those whose years exceed their health, I pray for
peace and the powerful presence of God. I pray that those whose perceptions are
dimming on many fronts would be stirring spiritually, sensing the springtime of
the spirit.
There is a hope deep in every believer, a blessed assurance
that in Jesus all is well. All will be well. Amen.
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