A is for AUTUMN

Rural life has its advantages, not least the sight of constantly changing colours on the trees and in the hedgerows as summer finally packs up its bags and leaves the tidying up for another season. And so it is that what begins as a spectacle of browns, reds, oranges and yellows waving in the breeze from the comparative safety of a branch, soon becomes a deep carpet of lifelessness ready to be consumed by the invisible forces that find some use for the discarded leaf. By the time the first scents of March arrive, there is barely a trace on the ground of a tree's former garments while it is already preparing to exhibit its new spring collection in anticipation of another successful year's growth. Sometimes, I'm sure the evergreen society must cast an envious glance at the myriad of colours adorning their neighbours in the late months of the year and just wishing that, for once, they could wear something else rather than plain old green.

Autumn is a beautiful season, a quiet time when nature takes a well earned rest and prepares for what winter might throw in its direction. In apple country, it is the end of the harvest and consequently it conjures up memories of colder, wet days in orchards when removing the crop is made more difficult by the softness of the ground and the shortening light hours herald the end of summer time as we know it. Inevitably, these changes are often accompanied by very strong breezes which only help to hasten the fall of leaves but are just as likely to remove apples and nuts from their woody homes prematurely. Indeed some of my worst memories of storms, floods and power cuts have happened while watching apples float by in unusually swelling rivers.

Autumn is also the time when children leave home to return to their studies, when the cat no longer wants to watch from outside and when the garden is packed up and put away until next year. It is a time when colours explode in the sky, when children 'dunk' for apples and when we all become fascinated with eating nuts (unless an allergy prevents us joining in this seasonal recreation) and wearing frightening masks. At home it was a time for apple dumpling, a curious mix of apples, cinnamon, cloves and potato covered in a cornflour custard and only eaten on the last night of October. It was also a time when dad would produce a bundle of fireworks from a hidden stache and, with all electric lights extinguished, we would gather around the back door as he abandoned all safety procedures to ensure that we would have a visual display to rival anything in the neighbourhood.

I often think about the leaves that dance around our driveway or carpet our flowerbeds and lawns. I think about the job they've done in their short lives, about their usefulness , about how they harness the sunlight and make food for the whole plant, about how they work together for the good of the tree, about how they protect it in times of drought or great heat and about how they provide shade, comfort and nourishment for so many creatures. And about how they die. And I think about my old Sunday School teacher, not long called home, who used to remind us, as he quoted from an old hymn, that 'life at best is very brief, like the falling of a leaf.' And I think of how those words that seemed to pass over our young heads, when we had more interest in football, pop groups and girls, actually didn't, and the older I get, the more I quote them to others and the more I look at my own life and question if I have done all that I can for God. And yet as I look at the tree, I see how necessary it is for its own survival and future growth that it loses its leaves in autumn and I know that for my christian maturity, I must do likewise and lose anything which hinders my spiritual growth. Matthew reminds me that if my right eye or right hand causes me to sin, it is better to lose that part than lose everything in eternity. When a leaf falls, it will be content that it has done its best. In the autumn of our lives , will we have the same satisfaction?