Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus
I am one of the millions of annoying people on Instagram who loves autumn; call it clichéd or basic but it’s true. I happily snap my hot coffees and crunchy leaves.
For me, Autumn is the one season of the year I like being outdoors because there is no pollen and the air is still mild.
I love the way the changing leaves make the trees look as if they’re nature’s own fireworks and that scent unique to this time of year that evokes nostalgia, the crisp sweetness of apples against the slightly damp smell the trees get.
By rights, Autumn should be a terrible season with very little beauty.
It’s the time when flowers sleep beneath the soil and the green of new life is replaced with the brown of decay.
And yet in their dying, they get even more beautiful.
And there lies autumns’ redemption; and it echoes our own, ultimate contradictory redemption.
The death that brings new life, the sacrifice that gives us more than we could ever hope or imagine.
It’s been twenty-two years since I first accepted the redemption of Jesus into my heart, but this Autumn I’ve been experiencing it afresh.
The redemption that turns our scars into stories and opens our broken hearts to love more, lies at the heart of the season whose dying leaves leave a carpet of bronze.