On Leaves

I love Fall.

I love all the seasons, and they all have their merits, but there is nothing like fall. This is probably pretty common knowledge to those who know me well, and they've probably heard some of this stuff before, but fall is so prevalent right now that I cannot stop thinking, and therefore writing, about it. Something about fall just gets deep inside me. It helps, of course, that I enjoy cold weather. The feeling of a strong, chilly wind is enlivening, and Autumn rain is like the showering of the Spirit. However, I also love the colours.

The colours.

Fall is absolutely beautiful. I don't think I could live anywhere without deciduous trees. Maybe for a while, but I would miss the changing of the fall season too much. I take so much joy in watching Autumn paint her masterpiece year after year, turning the world into a wash of ochre and umber with vibrant splashes of fire here and there. How can you see this and not love fall? Maybe my artistic sensibility just runs away with me, but I cannot help feeling that there is something holy about fall.

It is interesting to think scientifically about what happens when the weather starts getting cold and the leaves start dying. That is essentially what it is. The leaves start dying. What keeps them alive is the chloroplasts using photosynthesis to provide energy for the plant. These chloroplasts are also what make leaves green. When the cold weather hits, these chloroplasts stop their photosynthesis, and the leaves lose their green. That is when their true nature comes out.

I was told once that Death is the road to awe.

How remarkable it is that God would create plants that became beautiful in death! The greens of spring and summer are vibrant and striking, and I would not give them away, but it blows my mind to think that when that green--that life drains away, the leaves are still beautiful.

That is poetry.

That is God.

Sometimes I think that Jesus is like the autumn leaves. His death came with a wash of red, and in that death he became something inconceivably beautiful. The true nature of his life was revealed in a way that is truly awe inspiring. And like the trees, his death was not forever, but he rose again.

Sometimes I think that we are like the autumn leaves.

Sugar Maples

The trees are beginning to burn
Burn
Throwing their light against the sky
But like Moses and the bush
The trees are not consumed
No, they are the fire
Showing light from deep within the leaves
Iridescent reds and yellows
Revealed by the coming death of winter
As these leaves die
Their true natures are revealed
Awe
And we are like the leaves
With iridescent souls
Waiting only for death
To be revealed