Colours of Autumn, No shades of Grey

The trees are beginning to go now, and maybe because we have had such a decent summer, with sunshine and warmth continuing even now, I feel happy to see the colours showing vibrant and varied. There is a season for everything under the sun, it says in Ecclesiastes, and when a season has been true to its expectations it is a joy to see one season segue into the next.

Not always like that in Scotland, and not always like that in life.

Very often we have cool or wet summers, grey and overcast and with temperatures barely warmer than what we might have in February. When the weather is like that, moods can continue grey and overcast too, and seeing the fall colours starting can be discouraging.

We think of the seasons of life equating with our age, so that the winter comes at the end. But some people are born with significant health problems which eliminate the hope of spring and the fulfilment of summer. Others have economic constraints or political upheavals which cut short the normal seasons which should be theirs.

I feel very blessed to have lived a life so far blessed with the orderly unveiling of the seasons. Now I am a gramma, and am very aware that this is a new season. I wouldn’t equate it with winter just yet though! More like the colours of autumn. Beautiful. Vibrant. Glorious. And also, a tinge of sadness, reminded that time does pass, and that I will not be here to enjoy the whole life of this beautiful granddaughter. 

The hope of a Christian’s autumn, though, and indeed her winter, is that round the corner is a springtime filled with flowers and hope, joy and freedom. In the colours of autumn, there are no shades of grey.

The Colours of Autumn

Oranges, russets, yellows and browns. The countryside is still resplendent in autumn glory, though some trees have discarded the last of their leaves and stand denuded in the frosty cold. 

Walking through the woods today with Mhairi who lives in LA. She commented on how although Southern California is beautiful, it lacks the variation of weather and vibrancy of seasonal colours which she finds stunning. The carpet of orange bracken nearly obscured the path we were on as we tramped together round Scolty.

The colours of autumn: colours which are harbingers of hibernation. Hibernation – perhaps that’s a better word than ‘death’. Perhaps, as Christians, it would be a more accurate word to describe that state of life when we finally cease to draw breath. When we migrate to ‘the other side’: we ‘pass away’, ‘pass on’, or nowadays, simply ‘pass’. 

Pass is a weird word for it I think, as it implies an exam to me. Pass or fail. It seems when it comes to escaping this mortal coil, we all pass. 

Maybe migration would be a good word, now that I think about it. Mhairi and I were discussing how geese migrate in a v-formation, and the lead goose is alternated as they go. Is that so one goose doesn’t get all the glory? Or so he/she doesn’t get worn out? Or if one isn’t so great at navigation, the next leader might be able to correct the errors before the whole flock goes seriously astray? 

I don’t know. But I do know that there are some people in my life who have showed me how to migrate out of it. Who have demonstrated courage and dignity as they endured the final days and who slipped through the curtain without complaint. My sister Judy. My dad. 

Oranges, russets, yellows and browns. The colours of autumn. Harbingers of hibernation.

Seasons all have their beauties. Even old age.

Autumn sneaks up

The colours of autumn seem to have appeared overnight. Favourite trees have begun their annual transformation; a bit like an ageing head of hair which goes grey bit by bit, the acer and the elm have exchanged their vibrant greens for a glorious array of reds, russets, oranges and yellows. These swathes of colour will creep throughout the tree over the next few weeks until they all grow weary of clinging on and drop off or are swept away in wild winds.

I say the colours appeared overnight but of course, there have been signs of impending seasonal change for some time now. 

And Dusty. She is in her autumn, as am I, and yet it seems sudden, this decline in her health. Perhaps it’s because I don’t want summer to pass – not in the season, not in my life, not in hers. I want to cling on to that energy of summer, that heat and profusion of life. But I can’t.

We are gathering in the final fruits of our labours. Apples yet to be picked but some are in; potatoes likewise, and carrots. When they are all finally gathered in, we will batten down the hatches for the onslaught of winter, if it comes in that guise this year.

I am reminded of the farmer in the story Jesus tells, who builds another barn to hold all the produce of his fields, only to be told that he isn’t going to live through the night. He should have shared more. Given more away, not stored it up selfishly.

It’s the idea that you never know when your time will be up. You see the signs but they aren’t definitive. You know the years have piled on but you don’t really reckon you feel any older than you did ten years ago. And yet, and yet. 

Be ready, Jesus advised. Be alert. Be aware of the signs of the times, so when the ‘bridegroom’ (Jesus) comes for you, you’re ready.

That’s an exciting thought. But there’s no moving on, without there being a leaving behind, and that’s where the sadness lies.

I don’t want to be left behind, and I don’t want to leave anyone behind.

Well, all I can do is trust. And step out into the day that lies ahead.