Mary E. Rogers


Autumn is upon us, I see the color on the trees.
The mountains are ablaze with brilliant colored leaves

The flowers are their prettiest right before they fade
They seem to know that time is short; soon winter’s storms will rage

I hear the honking of the geese and see them flying south
The squirrels are scurrying around with acorns in their mouth

There’s something else I see starting with the ever-present green
It reminds me of how Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane

Some leaves are brightly colored red, like the blood that stained the cross
Where Jesus willingly hung and died to save all those that are lost

Brown is not a pretty color, it even appears forlorn
Our Savior deserved a golden crown, but he wore a crown of thorns

The yellow color of the leaves, reminds me of that first Easter day
Of how the sun must have shone when the stone was rolled away

In the midst of all this color the black branches remind me of the sky
The day our Savior was crucified and in the darkness he cried out why

But again there’ll a springtime and we’ll be reminded again
That death could not keep our Savior and life is reborn again

Mary, Zack, and Michaela
The mountains that surround me have become as much a part of me as breathing. When I am burdened down, it is the mountains that I retreat to. It is the mountains I look at as soon as my feet hit the floor in the morning. There have been times when I thought I wanted to run from here, to start fresh somewhere else. I cannot leave. My mountains call to me and I become as homesick as a mother for her child. Creation is God’s testimony of love toward us; it is where I feel the closest to him. I said, “My mountains speak to me,”… they can if you will listen. (The photograph is of me and my two youngest, last autumn, up on the mountain.)