Golden light filtered through my window creating a morning altar…the whole room alight with silent comfort. I rise and follow the light to my back porch, watching it rise and cover the valley. Filtering between the trees, waking the birds and their songs, even the tree frogs acknowledge the light. No creature is immune from its radiance.

The greens have transitioned to pink. The yellows and reds are creeping into the scene, slowly but surely. The cool breeze blows and it rains leaves. Even the crows are laughing in glee. The floor of the wood is carpeted with leaves. The smell of fall hangs in the air. Something between a campfire, decaying leaves, and a chilly breeze.

My windchime is lightly ringing with the gentleness of the cool breeze. Squirrels romp and play in the trees until the acorn bombs begin to drop. They give up their play to get to the work of collecting food. The light is so lovely the tree frog isn’t quite ready to call it quits, but the song slows as the light climbs higher in the sky.

As the sun peeks over the mountain, the forest comes alive with light and shadows celebrating in kind of a dance. The leaves sway, the light moves among the shadowy branches. The light green is illuminated, while the darker greens frame the ever-changing scene. The orange leaves are the splash of color the painting needs, with the vertical lines of dark trunks. The artist has such balance of color, texture, and light.

This chapel on my porch is glowing. All around me worship is happening, if I will just pay attention. Finally, real fall has arrived.