I love the changing seasons, I love crisp Autumn days with fresh sparkly blue skies, cold biting and leaves that are golden and pretty. I love seeing the city in a new way, with carpets of leaves, trees revealing what they’ve hidden all summer and the sense that the first frost is in the air. I love the starlings swirling around Brighton Pier at sunset, dancing in the orange glow. I love the rainy Saturday afternoons indoors with a cup of tea and some pretty music on the stereo. I love big woolly jumpers to curl up on sofas in. I love the smell of woodsmoke and the first few evenings when it’s dark as I come home from work and I can close the curtains and put on the lights. I love the anticipation of Christmas, the lights in the darkness and the reminder that waiting is really important. I love the changing seasons.
I’m reminded, in such times, that most things in this life wither and fade, brown leaves fall on the ground, are crispy and then mulch away when the rain comes. Winter trees stand starkly against the sky. Our world grows old, our temporary nature comes home to us again in autumn and winter. During spring we find hope in new birth and freshness but in autumn and winter we face death and decay. It’s fitting that birth comes into winter, that new life is found in the midst of such darkness. It’s fitting that there is hope to be found as we look to the one who goes on and on and on. As we look to the one who lasts in the most enduring way possible. As we seek the one who gives us a faith that is imperishable and an inheritance that will never spoil or pass away.