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.
