Photo Friday: Episode 16

The woods is shining this morning.
Red, gold and green, the leaves
lie on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes
the place it has been coming to forever.
It has not hastened here, or lagged.
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.
See how without confusion it is
all that it is, and how flawless
its grace is. Running or walking, the way
is the same. Be still. Be still.
“He moves your bones, and the way is clear.”

Grace, by Wendell Berry

Tonight is the last night of summer, and I'm eager to bid it farewell. It's impossible to miss the beauty and brevity of life as the seasons change as I went on my weekly photo walk. On my mom's birthday, we went to Lindley Prairie Cemetery to visit the graves of some of our relatives, including Parthenia Strange, my great-great-great-great grandmother. Standing still on the cemetery ground, earth soft from a recent rain, I was reminded "Running or walking, the way is the same."

God gives us all just so many seasons on this earth. Parthenia died on August 28, 1877. Her gravestone has since fallen and broken in two. Still, all these years later the inscription on her grave stone reads, "We loved her." Still, all these years later her love remains. Love is like that. When you look closely enough, you'll see it engraved on even the hardest crumbling hearts. Knocked down and trampled upon, "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends" (1 Corinthians 13:7-8).

There is joy in the fall, and for Christians there is joy in the end. For us, "He moves your bones, and the way is clear." For us, the Way is Love.