Okay, all of y’all who follow this site gotta know by now what to expect this time of the year, so without further ado, here goes:

Determined as one tends to become on sunlit afternoons of majestic October essence to experience peaceful rejuvenation of soul and spirit, these famished eyes set out today to relish an Ozark feast of dazzling color and give thanks and glory to the Creator for the grace that is undoubtedly bestowed upon our existence in these brooding autumn hills.  His perfection is on display here for all creation to behold, especially during early fall when gum trees emerge from sylvan dressing halls in gaudy scarlet as they join fallow and orange sassafras preparing for their roles in the celebration of this year’s festive autumnal potpourri.  

I shall pause here for a long, deep draught of brilliant, gilded hickory mingled to perfection with silent crimson sumac; assuredly a drink deserving of place in a celestial banquet such as has appeared before me, much to be savored and without brevity.  As I relish this event, a fleeting dark realization captures my thoughts – ere long, alas, villainous icy fingers of winter shall steal into this wondrous realm of color and as required in her annual pilferage, pluck the boughs of oak, hickory, and gum barren of hue, casting spidery shadows where autumnal glory does now abound.  Today’s walk under slow dancing towers of amber and pastel, nevertheless shall remain unencumbered with notions of tomorrow’s boreal malignity and instead ply with soul wholly enraptured this day’s intoxicating halls of splendor that only the skilled hand of the Creator can be imagined to lovingly endow of all these immaculate tints with His delicate brush.

Moss-darkened limestone escarpments gather along silent rims of the ravine to witness a symphony of windblown amber oatgrass whispering an autumn song played in chords known only to the gentle northern breeze.  Fallow shadows find their way down rocky winding creek beds, now long devoid of water and in undoubted reminisce of misty April days when their banks were full.  At this stage of the seasonal march, ochre leaves vie with desiccated limestone and agate rocks for places to rest and watch this autumn spectacle unfold.  Somewhere above – far above – swaying golden boughs, the Savior undoubtedly watches, indeed it is He who is directing to perfection the extravaganza.  

As I appreciatively devour my generous portion of the servings so graciously offered this day, a solitary traveler of honeyed oaken amber in final descent drifts aflutter onto the table before me.  Having selected a suitable resting place, perhaps yesterday, perhaps months ago as he held onto the branch that bore him, he chose this day to let go and lend his mote of sublime texture to what is becoming a lush carpet of autumn hue.  As he descends inexorably onto the earth, he silently waves farewell to the somber giant oak he came to know. Then he rests.

Pray, beloved child, your prayer in sadness, silence and wonder for He patiently waits in silent and peaceful places where He watches for wholesomeness of heart, even – and especially – on somber mornings of clouded silence.  His gaze is ever upon your humility and compassion, for the blessing he desires to visit upon you is predicated on these.  Keep your own eyes to those fellow travelers endowed flush with righteous purpose and bestowed with wisdom; emulate such as you may be able and as your spirit allows. Surely the Creator will rest His mighty hand on your hope, for shipwrecked ever become ambitions elsewise, although it may seem not so for now.  With purity of heart, keep your sanctuary of solitude in His reach.  For it is but with purity of heart that we may behold Him.

Take shelter there and trust your tears go not unheeded, that your despondent mourn is indeed regarded by the Master, whose abundant presence ever awaits your return to that burning bush in your place of solitude.  Weep then, loudly if at all – fervently cry for mercy and for justice – for assuredly He gives pause to those hopeless, woeful echoes such as fill the heavenly censer.  As surely as the morning star arises from a pale dawn of twilight to beckon your spirit, encouragement such as may be rightfully and fruitfully gained from His compassion and wisdom shall blossom from the very despair you presently endure.  From eternity itself, incomprehensible peace shall indeed reveal to you His presence and the depths of His love.

Go then, to your fortress of solitude, that simple haven chosen by you among strewn leaves beneath oaken boughs where your tears as rivulet testimonials entreat His presence into your spirit to lift, to promise of eternal hope, eternal life, eternal love.  Consider always your burden as a blessing, through all awaiting sorrow and trepidation to which you must return from this sanctuary of tranquility ere you suffer the beastly conflict once more and with such steadfastness as you are gifted. You need not face it alone. Reap and gather courage here, then embrace it as you return to that life of need and poverty.  With passion, regard such destitution as His grace to you, for the wealthy ever deny themselves purity of faith.  Consider the patch on your garment as witness of travail you’ve endured in humble determination to remain faithful in the tempest. The wealthy cannot fathom a need of fortress against those merciless winds blowing covetousness and impurity upon the dark, endless paths they travel.  Such need is never regarded as they dwell within ornate decadence of realms unknown to you, but trust that unfamiliarity is for your benefit. They have no place to pray.  They have no place to weep.

Few souls among the multitudes of the uncompassionate whose hearts are laden with envy and desires of the flesh – sadly so few – shall ever come to know the blessing to be had spending time and tears of despondence in His presence.  Burdened with such pursuits of vanity as they carry, they deny themselves the incredible grace that awaits their presence in those humble silent places where Jesus Christ seeks to meet them!  To mend them. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.  Walk upright, holding the hem of His garment through each emerging shadow and understand that misfortune befalls every soul, therefore find that sacred place and avail yourself of an instance to pray.  And as need demands, to spend tears.

If the Almighty awaits our fellowship beneath forest boughs in a misty wood or within a secluded glen among rocks on a mountainside – a meeting place where thoughts and tears are spilled before Him, there go I.  If we must shun the allure of worldly lust and desire so that we may be comforted in such places where it is meet to tearfully implore the mercy and compassion of Jesus Christ, there go I.  If I might find that place where God abides awaiting the piteous cries of the needy and destitute so that there I too may be blessed – blessed indeed to be one with fellow sojourners in poverty and tears in the sanctity of His Holy Spirit – there, in poverty and purity of heart and by any means, go I.