The air is scented with the warm smells of pumpkin bread, the stew has chunks of sweet potato added, the air is still and cool. the colors are the ones I love best...
Brown, rust, berry red, golden rod and dusky purple...the nut brown earth is fallow...resting...
Across each Fall day I see glimpses of God. How great are His works! How sure and certain is His immense creativity. Can you just imagine His smile when He first thought of a pumpkin ? Or His pleasure in seeing the first sweet/sour bite of apple on someones tongue? He must have placed in some womans mind somewhere to add cinnamon and nutmeg to a pie.
And surely He delighted in the first vase of dried hydrangeas on a battered farm table. Can we appreciate each season for its sheer loveliness? I'm trying to stop for a few minutes every day to look for God the Creator in the gentle closing doors of Fall.
Brown, rust, berry red, golden rod and dusky purple...the nut brown earth is fallow...resting...
Across each Fall day I see glimpses of God. How great are His works! How sure and certain is His immense creativity. Can you just imagine His smile when He first thought of a pumpkin ? Or His pleasure in seeing the first sweet/sour bite of apple on someones tongue? He must have placed in some womans mind somewhere to add cinnamon and nutmeg to a pie.
And surely He delighted in the first vase of dried hydrangeas on a battered farm table. Can we appreciate each season for its sheer loveliness? I'm trying to stop for a few minutes every day to look for God the Creator in the gentle closing doors of Fall.
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