It's the season of dancing leaves, twirling madly from branch to earth, fluttering across my path and gathering in graceful, crunching heaps against every rise in the ground. Flame and ember, vermilion and gold - the vibrant colors and crisp air light a fire inside that make me want to dance with them.
It's the season for introverts, inviting me to long walks outdoors and mugs of hot tea on the balcony, with evenings filled with cozy blankets and soft knitting projects and book-worlds to get lost in. As the hemisphere dies vibrantly around me, I come inexplicably to life.
It's the season of hope, knowing that the trees are only sleeping through the bitter winter, that if they kept their green leaves they would truly die - and marveling at a Creator who instilled such a knowledge in them, that they will sacrifice their leaves in order to grow new ones in the spring, a resurrection metaphor.
And it's the season for gratitude, for giving thanks before we begin giving gifts, and preparing our hearts for a season of waiting for the celebration of God-with-us. A time to pray alone and to gather with friends and family, affirming that all is a gift, whether we would name it as such at first glance or not - for in growth and life, in fading and death, in brilliance and shadow, in all things He can be glorified.
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