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Our farm has been changing dramatically over the past 2 weeks, each day moving a little closer to the reality of autumn around the corner. Most of the fruit which is not residing in our freezer has fallen from the trees, and the walnut husks are hanging lonesome and bulbous as a windstorm pulled many leaves to the ground last week.
Readying for winter's sleep is quite a glamorous affair for some trees on our farm--they are clothed in rich crimson and gold like the most alluring and ostentatious negligee. However the majority of tree leaves turn drab yellow or brown, as if donning a practical flannel nightgown or an oversized t-shirt without any pretense of grandeur. Even our horses laze about, comfortable in their soft winter woolie coats and feathered slippers, happy with their gift of hay. I'm envious of their contentment though I prefer fluffy flannel myself.
This has not been a leisurely late summer for me, instead full of turbulence and fretfulness, rushing full force toward the eventual calm of autumn and quiet of winter. Like so many others, I'm ill at ease with this transition, as unready as a small child who resists the approach of bedtime, even when exhausted to the point of meltdown. It takes someone to quietly sit down with me to read a good bedtime story and to sing a soft hymn of lullaby. I seem to keep leaping up, eyes propped open, pushing on, thinking there are "miles to go before I sleep"(Robert Frost).
The time to sleep will come, sooner than I think. Just as a storm brings the leaves to the ground, so shall I be laid to rest, to be restored "in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye" (NIV-1Cor 15:52).
Maybe I should think about wearing that bright red nightie.
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