Something about the sweet smells of earth, of ripening berries along the roadside that calls to something deep within, in Fall.
The amber light which this time of year slants in and backlights adding a golden glow to everything.
There are warm memories of haying, of berry picking and cabbage cutting on misty mornings; of new shoes and lunch pails, school bus sightings, and hurried prayers over the children.
In the Now, there are herbs to gather, seeds to collect, the garden to be put to bed. There is preserving to be done, jamly to make. (Jamly: fruit with pulp to make rich, substantial spreading, not thin clear liquid turned solid.)
Something about Autumn also makes the spirit mellow, almost melancholy. Is that because you can't help noticing the year is winding to its end?
For me that is combined with the fact that this is the time of year we were married long years ago. It is also the season when my first born first smiled her way into our lives.
And it is the time of harvest. It is a time to savor while remembering summer's collected joys and storing up for winter.
My life is much different now from the farm years. Yet much of the spirit of that time lingers, hovers and almost seems to haunt.
With the differences of life and rhythm there still is the call to review 'the crop' of the year, to rejoice and give thanks.
As Mark Buchanan so beautifully writes:
"...a time to acknowledge God as provider:
rainmaker, sun-keeper, storm-quencher.
The season [proving] yet again,
God's enduring faithfulness...."