Fall Is Coming
Fall is coming to the high country. Today, I woke up cold; Terry was buried in all the covers and our kitchen floor was warm, indicating that the house temperature had dropped below 55 degrees and the in-floor heat had kicked on. But in our high mountain valley, still robed in summer flowers, warm days, and deep green we received subtle and unmistakable signs that change is upon us.
Colorado summers are famous for warm days and cool nights and this particular summer has been good for flowers in the garden and the mountain meadows. But, on Tuesday the dianthus bloomed again. This hardy short perennial had a spectacular late spring and early summer bloom. We enjoyed the bright red flowers until Independence Day and then it went dormant, seems this plant does not like the hot mid-summer days. But when the days grow short again and the nights cooler, the dianthus gives us a second burst of joy and a warning-summer is almost over.
Of course, in town where the humans are much more tied to the calendar, the season has clearly changed. The county fair ended last weekend and marked the end of summer while Monday’s start of high school volleyball and football began the fall academic term. My teacher friends have long faces as D-Day approaches and their “freedom days” drop into single digits. I am never quite sure if they are more depressed by the yearly reality of how few of the summer to-do items got done or the annual daunting prospect of putting some order into the wild and hormone soaked adolescent intellect. This yearly cycle and change, much like the hummingbirds starting to leave this week, remains remarkably uniform from year to year.
But here in the valley the annual change of migrating birds and the loss the aspen’s color intensity causes me to be both sad and grateful. I am sad at the loss of summer but grateful that the God who set this magnificent and ordered creation in motion also cares and preserves-His promises given to even the tiny red dianthus flower. I am grateful for the reminder of His care because Terry, Ginny, and I also feel the movement of change.
We return to Missouri in a week and much is in flux. The three of us know that change is probable concerning friends, living situations, work, and parts of our lives yet unforeseen. We are sad because, like the dying back of our flowers, all change has the bitter taste of loss. But in the dianthus I hope. Not hope in that beautiful created thing, but a hope that points past that lovely flower to our Creator and preserver. An old friend once said, “To garden is to be a person of hope.” I will rest in that hope; in our last week in this peaceful place, I will turn my anxiety toward His promises in these last bursts of summer.
Blessings,
David