The beauty of age
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T and I went for a wonderfully wet walk yesterday in the rain and were blessed (yes blessed) to see the beautiful colours of the leaves as they fell from the trees. I just love this time of year, always have and always will, and yet yesterday something struck me. Why do so many of us love the colours as the leaves change and often choose Autumn as our favourite season, yet we fear the Autumn of our own lives?
I couldn’t help but wonder why, if we are so happy to celebrate the turning of the leaves and see the beauty in it, why does our society still scorn the turning of our own hair to grey and white (which can be a most dignified look) and the changing of our own skin. Why are we so sad about it?
I guess on the grand scale of things we know that the trees will blossom and bloom again within a few months - over and over this pattern has played in our lives so we do not doubt the return of youth the coming Spring. Do the trees of our world play out the cycle of our own births, lives, deaths and rebirths? Do you even believe in reincarnation? Perhaps it is this fear that once we are old there is no more youth that scares so many of us.
But with age comes great beauty as the trees demonstrate so well. Autumn is not yet the stark landscape of winter (which can be equally as beautiful in its own way) - so why do we fear it in our lives as well as our winters? I could not help but wonder…
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