I don’t have many words today, but I have this:
I’m starting to love aspen trees. The bark, ash grey with scars of black, leading up to flimsy branches with beautiful crisp leaves bright and yellow in the autumn sun… Magnificent.
There’s just something that speaks to me about the aspens. It speaks of hope, wonder, beauty amid turmoil.
It speaks of autumn too: that even death can be beautiful, that what seems like loss can be a renewal.
I wrote a lot about spring this year, when the world felt full of promise and excitement.
I did not know the gloom and pain that summer would bring.
I did not know that fall would lead me to contemplate this “season of dying” in more than just metaphorical terms. I did not know I would get to see the aspens.
And yet the hope I saw in spring, I see still in fall. Maybe it’s a fool’s hope, but it’s hope nonetheless. That hope says He has made everything beautiful in its time, and that death is just a part of this thing we call life– and He has redeemed it. The aspen tree is strong and beautiful, and it thrives even amidst its scarred and seemingly burned bark. The fire that kills it makes it grow stronger the next time. Its leaves are tough yet smooth, invoking wonder in both the spring and the fall.
Autumn is golden.