Fall: bright flame before winter’s deadness; harvest; orange, gold, amber; cool nights and the smell of fire. Our tree-lined streets are set ablaze, our kitchens filled with the smells of nostalgia: apples bubbling into sauce, roasting squash, cinnamon, nutmeg, cider, warmth itself.
The leaves as they spark into wild color just before they die are the world’s oldest performance art, and everything we see is celebrating one last violently hued hurrah before the black and white and silence of winter. Fall is begging for us to dance and sing and write with just the same drama and blaze. ~Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way
Loving these words today. And as fall begs us to dance and sing and write with abandon, Grace frees us to do so. For in Him we are free indeed.
Grace and Peace.