A Walk Through the Woods in Autumn. Sergei Vinogradov
Autumn creates space for dying. What is left untended in the heat of summer needs mending in the fall. For earth and flesh must keep their seasons and their liturgy. The leaves fall, fall, dried and withered things as if from some far and distant land. Through their barren pathways up and down I wander, unmasking hidden gardens of my past. O, how long my road has been. Down, down, into the emptiness that solitude has cast. Where memories’ wavering echo relives the residue of suffering, and the gray fog of sorrow drifts. Where what is near seems far away, a painless vastness among the stars. Up, up, I slowly climb to heights where long lamenting shadows lay lonesome across the mountain stone. And in the quiet stillness a melancholy roams. Where way beyond the distant ridge I see a city white. There the radiant face of Christ appears. and it was wet with tears. Autumn creates space for dying and a broken heart for crying. BWS
God is the Artist painting on the canvas of time the mysterious grandeur of creation. In the silence and patient waiting, the sacred picture begins to speak. The beauty in the dying is God unraveling the mystery of the supreme, inexpressible, unrepeatable act of redemption—Christ pinned to Golgotha’s tree.
Take a quiet moment to listen as Betty reads a portion of her beautiful meditation.