Autumn is a time of mixed emotions. Perhaps the American term ‘Fall’ is more appropriate; we witness the death of summer, multiple hues of green, life, growth, hope and future are cut short, greens become browns, life becomes death. Growth is halted, cut short, heat gives way to coldness, the sun lowers its arc across the sky, the light changes becoming more silvery and less intense, shadows become longer, the sweet scents and smells of summer give way to dank and damp, moss and mould.
And yet there is a glory to it all. Perhaps it is rather a sleep than a death. Nature is shedding her skin, her demise only skin deep, yet the resurrection of spring none the less impressive in the burst of new life that arises out of the ashes of winter.
Photographs are stories and these mobile phone snaps like sketches on the page, giving a glimpse of that great saga of the seasons we inhabit year by year our whole life long.
Yet the Autumn chapter in the book-of-the-seasons story is surely a God-given reflection or analogy of that greatest story of all; a tale of a birth like no other, life in all its fullness, a death that was beyond darkness and of a resurrection and spring of new hope that would point us to the glorious future of the summer to come that lies beyond the shores of this life in a greater country and place, where there shall be no more pain, death or dying but only the fullness of joy in the presence of our Lord and Saviour, Master and Friend:
Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end.