The air is as crisp as the juicy tart Macintosh I bite into as I meander down the dirt path. Overhead, the canopy explodes with vibrant shades of autumn – the foliage is on fire blazing a chorus of praise to the Creator of all. As a gentle breeze sings through the flames, crackling noises accompany the dancing hues of crimson and gold. A few sparks fly loose and tumble to the ground at my feet. I kick around the dying flames which have not turned to ashes, not yet at least.
The crystal sky is set as a clear backdrop to the majesty of the Artist’s work and the scent of remembrance is in the air. In order to appreciate the artistry around me, I must look up; I look up through the flames to heaven and my vision is refocused on eternity. The earth, my home, has been on this path before – its cyclical elliptical path never changing year after year and it has returned to this spot so many miles from the sun once again.
My pace slows as I recall the past times in this place on the path around the sun – the ebb and flow of life goes on in a never-ending cycle of death and life. The glorious fire above me and around me will not last long when the icy grip of frost begins the next turn around the sun. And so I treasure the moments in the bonfire of heaven and I warm my soul by the flames of rejoicing and I remember that everything has its time and place in this world. I join the dance of color in glorifying my King the Artist and author of all.
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