A Day at the Abbey
By Krissi Carson
25 Sep 2008
Every year I am surprised by Fall, as if I don't expect it. And each year I am more surprised by it than the last.
As I write this, I'm looking out over a small pond. The sound of water falling down a series of stones serves as background music, or maybe foreground, and leaves from the trees above me create the floor around the chair I'm sitting in. After spending an hour wandering with my camera, I sit here in the silence of nature at the Trappist Abbey a world away from everything and a twenty-minute drive from my house.
A few days ago, I took a walk in town with a friend. Our walk slowed when we came to a sidewalk covered in large, dry, yellow leaves, and we shuffled through the leaves like children, listening to the "crunch, crunch" of them beneath our feet and occasionally kicking them into the air. And it did our hearts good.
Today as I sit in this place of quiet, beauty, and wonder, I am struck by a new realization. When I lean my head back against the chair, I look up to see an interweaving of branches, some with leaves larger than others. These are the leaves that have lasted a little longer than the ones at my feet, and it strikes me as breathtaking, and it comes to me that God has given us a gift, an amazing gift. The gift of Fall.
And perhaps Fall is so surprising to me because death is an ugly thing. It is dark and blinding and frightening and it seems to go gentle into an abyss, never heeding the words of Dylan Thomas. But every year Fall takes me by the shoulders, gives me a bit of a shake and tells me, "This is not so," and bursts forth like a brush filled with paint flung across a canvas and shows us all that death is beautiful, colorful, and dynamic. And I look at the ground, so covered that it looks like it snowed leaves, and I ponder that in nature, death is beautiful. I think forward to winter, when the trees are left naked and remember that there is a beauty even in this, and that when the old growth is long gone, a new season will start again.
And so I sit here and ponder this gift, this time when we can stop and behold the colors, when we can be children for a moment, and when we can imagine God looking upon us with an excited grin, saying, "Because I love you more than you can ever comprehend, see what I have given you? Isn't it great?" As these words sink in, I lean my head back, and in awe I simply whisper, "Yeah."
1 response
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Spectre Photo gave props (25 Sep 2008):
Outstanding story, I really enjoyed reading it. Best of luck
