Fall and Me

Fall. I think I hear it, even now. The colors, some shouting and some whispering, all have my name on their lips. I cannot resist their siren call. Honestly, I don’t want to resist.  When I walk alone in the woods on a crisp fall day, tears come to my eyes. I can’t tell you if they are tears of joy or tears of sorrow; the two emotions mix together and get stuck in my throat. The passing of another year means there are more faces I will never see again this side of heaven.  Nothing says earthly life can’t last forever like fall. Leaves and walnuts and acorns all tumble from up above, some days with more vigor than others.  They speak to me of the brevity of life and the need to act on my intentions. I think back to the year gone by and realize everything I didn’t do: every resolution that wasn’t kept, every potential that went unfulfilled. But…I can’t stay gloomy. The colors are so vibrant; the scent so…well, autumnal; the sound and feel of fallen leaves swishing beneath my feet so absolutely satisfying; the dry, cool air so near perfection. My heart aches because it feels both emptiness and abundance, and it has difficulty reconciling the conflict.

I was born fifty-three years ago today. This season is a part of me; we seem to connect on a soul-to-soul level.  I understand that fall is not an entity unto itself, just a gift from our Creator God who knows me like no one else could ever know me. But I think when He created me, He wove a little fall into my innermost being.  And every year, right around my birthday, that part of my soul starts reaching, searching, longing, listening...for fall. I think I hear it, even now.