Prayer #134: Comes the Fall

Sweet Gum

Autumn is genteel.

It doesn't drop rain with spring's blustery enthusiasm, or raise the sun with summer's sticky languor, or blow through overcoats with winter's standoffish chill.

Instead, it waves to the riotous leaves with a white-gloved hand and looks away when they fall exhausted to the hardening ground.

For autumn knows that silence is respectful, and it reminds us to bow our heads.

Prayer #134: Comes the Fall

I listen to the brisk rain fall outside my window, carrying a memory of summer sweat and a hint of winter breath, and I know You are exhaling within it.

I spot Your handiwork in the arboreal fireworks along the highway. I hear You rustle and scuttle across the sidewalk on darkening afternoons. I notice how still-warm sun lures me, but then crisp shade reveals You.

Just as the earth anticipates its dormancy, I too should reflect on all that makes me vibrant and verdant -- be it seen and unseen.

So God, I ask You to wrap me up in Your intentional decay. Remind my vulnerable spirit that barren limbs are no less alive than decorated ones. Prepare me for revelation.