The days are cooler and day light leaves us a full hour earlier. Leaves are turning brilliant colors before wafting to earth. Cycles of life and death continue to cleanse the natural world and change us from a growing season to a sleeping one. Traditionally fall is a time of great preparation for the coming winter. Canning and putting up the last vestiges from the garden, apple pressing and processing, preparing the ground for spring planting.
The work is never done, it just changes.
I wouldn't change where I live for the world. Oh, I'd move to a new property, but never out of this area, and I am very resistant to leaving even my county. I am especially fond of autumn here. The hillsides turn into a patchwork of brilliant colors, incorporating the blues and greens of our pines with the red, orange, and yellow of various other types of trees. The sugar maples take the show though, with their vividness.
Something is in the air here, something intangible and beautiful. A type of peace and a desperate understanding. I use 'desperate' as my descriptor because almost all of us who live here understand the phenomenal place we have. The quietness, the beauty, the undeniable enchantment that permeates the breeze.
Those of us who can't see it, leave. Some of us (including me) leave and then high-tail it back home, where we've always belonged – even if we didn't know it then. Some of us do not return, because this is not where God needs us, not where we are called to serve. Others grew up somewhere else, found us here, and knew they belonged.
I belong, and I finally know it.
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