Autumn is fast approaching. The first leaves in colors of muted emerald and bright yellows are falling off the trees in the garden; like confetti over sleepy grasses and shrubs that are starting to bend heads collectively in a sorts of camaraderie that can only foretell one thing: The white-bearded Old Father Winter had been summoned. He has changed into his long, white, fur robe and, soon, we’ll be seeing him riding his white horse over the rooftops at night; setting free the northern winds as he shrouds the land in gemstone made out of crystal rain.
Can I take pleasure in such imageries, as lovely as they may sound? For I’m already missing the warmth of the garden under the serene afternoon light, and roses and flowers shining at dusks like pastel stars... and the garden an oil painting where butterflies flutter through, and life is bathed in scents and warmth and color and where prayers are heard and, sometimes, even the angels come down and walk in dewy grasses among us.
But why think of tomorrow when I have today? I shall appreciate each moment, for I am part of each singular moment given to me, and I shall look into each season with the same amazed heart, as I stand in the tremble of divine presences, taking the vast outside into my soul.
“This is the day which the Lord hath made. We will rejoice and be glad in it”. Psalm 118:24