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h, waning winter, now comes the moderating ease of your spring caress. No longer do the gray skies persist, as the golden orb of celestial brightness shines ever longer in the azure sky. Slowly, surely, the aegis of our senses grows, akin to the sapwood of the mighty oak as it returns to life. At the break of the morn, given our new-found pleasures, we discern afresh the many wonders of our world; ever growing. From afar, perhaps even quite near, the signs of new life caress our ears. Is that the whippoorwill, or the wood duck that we hear? Perhaps the doe rises with her fawn. Is that the hungry wail of a newborn? Such is the wonderment of this age of new and re-new. With certainty, then ever-increasing speed, the days pass. Soon, the days of summer bring the sultry, steamy, reality of the locale. Relentless, persistent and with the solid sense of purpose, the locusts announce their warnings of the afternoon deluge. Perhaps it is only a foretelling of a watery onslaught, or worse. Perhaps it is simply a reminder of the fragility of our lives, the dangers of living out our most temporary, transient time with each other. Soon, another season has passed, and our world’s hues change to a less vibrant tone. Yet, oh glorious day, as we are refreshed by the temperate temperatures of Autumn! We offer our thanksgivings, for there is a slight chill to the tenor of the day. Somehow, the oppressive depths of our summer’s youths are no longer, as we gleefully enjoy the ever-aging new season of changing leaves and harvest bounties. Here is the peace found in our moderations, as we well remember the more pleasant days. Now is the time of our greatest ease, for we view the past and future. It is now the time of our greatest solace; comfortable with the wisdom of seasons past. No longer is there a struggle for post, or position, for the race is nearly o’re.. Oh yes, there may be a certain discontent. We may regret not having reaped what we have sown or regret not having done so, at all. Inexorably, with certainty, the understanding becomes accept- ance of the finiteness of life itself, as the chill of our winter season marches ever-closer. Such is the Creator’s plan for the seasons of His Creations on Earth. Soon, the days grow short. The oak leaves find, once again, the forest floor of their lives; being now gone from life itself. Yet, these days are not without hope, for there is the promise of renewal; for re-invigoration. For, from the dust of the Earth, springs life anew. As the Earthly seasons mount in our all-too-fleeting pasts, so does the ever-present call to prepare for the forthcoming season. We, in the waning seasons of our earthly lives, need not worry for what the future shall bring; if we have earnestly given up ourselves to the Christ. Oh, blessed day of the eternal season! “And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I ammaking all things new.” With the hope of eternal life, we may be brought into the season eternal; it is that life with a new beginning and no end; our being in the presence of God, forever. A Fr. Jonathan J. Filkins 30 SOUTHERN SENIOR MAGAZINE | Winter 2018 - 2019 Solution to Crossword Puzzle Oh Blessed Day! S