A Time of Dying ... The sun set sufferingly slow last evening, reluctant to let the first of the autumnal days slip by. As dusk fell into night, early points of light appeared in the sky and the new chill of the evening removed any doubt the season of dying had begun.

The deer are changing their camouflage coats from red to brown, the mesquite has lost its luster, and though this is our second growing season, it is a plodding growth, far removed from the opulent glory of spring, short as that season was this year. I love spring for its wildness, its unpredictability, but fall has a calming effect on my heart, and the crispness of early morning and evening is like inhaling shooting stars. That breathing exercise reminds me death is only an illusion.

Seems like we all act a little like squirrels this time of year: hoarding, storing, getting things in order for the great misconception of death — wintertime. The ants are busy, too, scurrying around to make sure there is "enough" for the winter. The fur on the barn cats is beginning to thicken and the horses’ coats aren’t quite as sleek as they were two weeks ago. The activities of all living things suggest a burrowing down. Soon the mesquite and other perennials will stand starkly naked in the pastures, looking like dead men waiting for their executions.

Underneath, of course, is life — as springtime will reveal. But, now, in this time of dying, this time before resurrection, we have the proffered gift of slowing down, forgiving the merciless heat of summer, watching the constellations shift as earth’s axis adjusts to the Creator’s design, taking time to realign ourselves to the rhythm of life.

All I need to do right now is move with the season, taking my cues from the life around me. This time of dying is not so painful; it is as it was meant to be. All other life around me knows that, knows it is more than a matter of putting on a jacket and glad rag; it is, instead, a slow dance with the season, moving to the lip of the grave. And, as winter pulls us into that illusion of death, all I need to do is dance with life and waltz out of the grave into the resurrected life of springtime. It will come.