Autumn!

Of all the equinoxes, the autumnal really is my favorite, by far. (Ok - I know. There are only two equinoxes, but it sounded so good in my head that I just had to give that opening the chance to live, in black and white, for at least one brilliant, blazing moment.) It's true, though. Fall is my favorite time of year. Granted, there are some parts of fall that I could do without; namely raking, football, and the impending doom of winter. The last one is especially heinous, but I've chosen to overlook it and maintain Autumn as the season I look forward to most of all anyway.

What is it about this glorious time of year that is so refreshing? I love the crisp air and the cool evenings. After a summer of humidity so thick you can chop it with a cleaver, it's nice to be able to sit outside and declare casually, "You know - it's a bit chilly out tonight. I think I might need a sweater." The best part, of course, is that you never actually get up and go and get said sweater, opting instead to be chilly just for the novelty of it. The thrum of the cicadas is replaced by the hum of the combines, their lights burning away, late into the night, in ever smaller circles on distant, hilltop fields. The heady scent of chlorophyll and pollen is replaced by the more demure aromas of dusty apples and (unfortunately) heavy-laden ragweed plants. The sunsets are softer. The pace of life slower, and there is an expectation of the end in the air. Ahhh - the end! That, really, is what I love most of all about Fall.

You see - I am a starter. If ever you should find me grinning with a group of friends in a jail cell, you will know that whatever plan got us there was probably hatched by me. I am always leaping before I look. Getting my cart before the horse. Counting my chickens before they hatch, and whatever other idiom applies to people who don't have the sense to stop and think a moment before tearing off down the road toward some new adventure. I guess the way I see it is that Autumn is God's annual loud-speaker announcement to me that it is alright to stop. Cease. Desist. Rest - even in the middle of a project. The gentle droop of my tomato plants and the dry rustle in the corn fields is not a signal to God to work harder, to do more, to try one last thing to bring forth fruitfulness in the earth. When fall comes, all things find closure - from the tired tomatoes, to the worn corn plants, to the budding weeds just staring to grow in the path. In His goodness, God truly did ordain a time to plant, and a time to reap.

So, fall is when I take a step back from the hundreds of little projects that I have set before myself, and take time to reflect. What things in my life have proven fruitful and deserve, now, to have their rest? What seeds and new things have I been busily collecting, sorting, storing, preparing, that now I should plant and walk away from for a season? What budding pet undertaking is it time to acknowledge as a weed in my path and let it go, promising and exciting though it may be? What things should I let die away in order to put my energy into the vital roots that must go deep if I am to survive the winter ahead?

It was chilly this evening as I walked out to shut my hens in for the night and check on the baby chicks, huddled under their heat lamp. On the way past my garden I noted that the annuals seemed to be the saddest of all the plants left. Their vigor and energy and ability to always set on a new fruit or stem seems to have left them, and they seem left startled to have come to the end of themselves and their own abilities and desires. God, I pray that I might not just be a busy annual. The biennials, likewise, are despondent. There is a hint of desperation in the last growing season of these two-year wonders. Wise enough to conserve for one winter, they fail to plan for any more, and end up all used up by their own initiative and pursuit of desired outcomes. Lord, let me be more than a short-lived burn out in your garden. It is only the perennials who maintain a hint of dignity and a promise of future usefulness this time of year. To be sure, they are tired like all the others, but rather than dreading the killing frost, they welcome it as a signal to stop their labors and take their rest. In that rest will come renewal, and with it is the assurance of  season upon season upon season of new starts and fresh tasks ahead. Lord, grant that I may learn the Autumn lessons you labor to teach me, so I can be rooted and find my rest in you and be perennially fruitful for your glory.