Autumn is such a beautiful season. But there is a quiet sadness to it. Such glorious shades of crimson and amber grace the leaves as they fall to the ground, but those vibrant colours indicate death. The once vital leaves, that used to be a brilliant green, so full of life, they shrivel and die. But there is no mistaking the beauty in their passing.

I also love the heaviness of harvest in the fall. The braches of the trees are drooping with the weight of the scarlett apples. The fruit has spent months on the trees, gleaning sweetness and size, and then the time comes when the tree can no longer support the fruit and it's time to harvest. Not unlike the human experience of pregnancy. A woman swells with the weight of her child, and the time comes when she can bear it no longer. The passing is painful, but through it we experience life's greatest gift.

I am struck by the fleeting nature of fall. In a few short weeks, the trees will be bare and the skies will be bleak. How many more autumns will I get to experience? Regardless of whether I get to see five more, or seventy more, one will be my last. Fall reminds me of my mortality. One day I will shrivel and die, and though the passing will be a painful journey, I know there will be a final beauty to behold.