Somehow it seems appropriate. There is a crispness in the evening air. The slightest whisper of color has already begun to softly kiss the leaves of the Bradford pears. The Dogwoods will follow, then the hills will come alive with the firey oranges and reds, yellows and golds of autumn in full-spectrum. The view will be spectacular, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. Perhaps this is God's apology for ending summer all too quickly. I rather believe, though, that it is yet one more example of His magnificent grace that eases us into another season, one that has the potential to be too harsh to bear were it not for some joie de vivre in the transition.

To many, autumn is a time of ending. Ending summer, warm days, carefree lifestyles, vacations. One might miss the glory of autumn altogether and only dread the coming of winter, when life seems to stand still and frozen. I have likened my own life these last few weeks and months to such a time of ending as I have wrestled with this thing called "empty nest syndrome." How suitable it seems that my youngest child would go off to college at this time of year, when leaves begin to fall and the earth appears to die. It is, indeed, the end of a season of my own life, and just as the falling leaves and cooler air declare a change has come, so do the remnants of boyhood my son has left behind: a nearly-empty bedroom with only a few posters still clinging to the walls, a basket of worn-out clothing in the corner, and a paintball gun perched upon the corner of his desk. Poignant reminders of a vibrant youth who has embarked upon his manhood.

For days, weeks on end I've only dreaded the winter and almost missed the autumn entirely. I've not trusted God to make the transition for me, just as he transitions the seasons of nature in such splendor and magnitude. Already, even before the departure of my son, the transition was underway. Some months ago, through a series of circumstances none of us predicted, my brother and his wife came to stay with us, along with their two-year-old daughter, my niece Anna. Our home was suddenly overflowing with giggles and tea cups; away with you, you fear of lonliness; no time to lament some future grief.

My son has adjusted well to his new life away at school, and he makes me proud. Autumn is not an ending for us, either-only a change, and no doubt we'll both have many adjustments to make in the transition. He'll have new responsibilities, new friends, new opportunities; I might use his

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