I named this blog in part because of something Kierkegaard wrote in an anthology I have, a quote which I can not longer find, but which said something about how fall is his favorite season, because in the spring he looks to the ground because of all the new growth, but in autumn, he fixes his eyes on heaven.
Fall, I feel, is the most contemplative of seasons. It is a time for coffee and black tea with milk and sugar while the rain pours down outside, turning the fallen leaves to mush. It starts when the first leaves begin to turn yellow, and ends when the cold wind scampers up the sleeves and down the collar of my jacket, making my morning walk to class just a little more hurried than usual.
In the fall, everything is dying and God’s transcendence seems perfect, the way He remains above it all in the clear blue sky, undying, unchanging. In the spring, everything is being born and God’s immanence seems obvious, the way He rains Himself down and seeps up in the green beneath the dirt, dynamic, moving, alive.
God is good in these moments: in grande mochas over gigantic essays; in thunderous rain that pummels falling leaves to earth; in brisk walks downtown hunting books by the most obscure of Athenian orators; in cracked heels, dry skin, and long walks; in 2 a.m. blog posts; in revived friendships; in thunderstorms, in sunbreaks, and in the smiles of people I will never know as well as they deserve.