Autumn Praise

I praise you, Lord, for Autumn:
for falling temperatures and morning chill,
trees turned gold and red, brown and orange,
falling leaves and blowing leaves,
the smell of burning leaves,
the joy of leaf-pile jumping.

I praise you, Lord, for Autumn:
the interplay of outside temperatures
and inside warmth,
the promise of cider and pumpkin bread,
the blessing of blankets and sweaters.

I praise you, Lord, for Autumn:
what Archibald Macleish called
"the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall
Unanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise."*

I praise you, Lord, for Autumn:
the beauty and hope in the change of season,
the promise that the coming of Autumn
heralds another ending,
a new beginning,
and the wonder of another Winter,
another Spring,
another Summer,
yet to come.

(*Archibald MacLeish, “Immortal Autumn” from Collected Poems 1917-1982. Copyright © 1985 by The Estate of Archibald MacLeish)