One very nice thing about this part of the country is that we have such an extended autumn. In these parts, fall doesn't usually "fall" until well along into November. Here it seems to take much longer for the trees to (regretfully?) give up that beautiful autumn garb in which they are arrayed in such magnificence for so many glorious days. A touch of bittersweet melancholy pervades the air as the last pastel leaves float down.

On a recent trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains, I noticed how the trees became more and more gray and bare as we traveled farther north and climbed higher in elevation. The air had a definite winter chill, and the trees on a couple of the highest mountain peaks were covered with frost that glowed brilliantly white in the evening sunset, imparting a rather lovely aspect to the gray shadowed slopes. But when we stopped at an overlook, the bitter gusts of wind rattling the stark trees limbs evoked a touch of gloom and bleakness and an instinctive urge to snuggle up near a blazing fireplace in some cozy cabin or cottage.

I've always loved the change of seasons and have been happy to welcome each change … even summer! Well … maybe just a little. Truthfully, I don't like hot weather even a little bit. I've always been thankful that I never had to live in the tropics, or any place where there were no seasons changing and marking portions and phases of life like signposts and mile markers on this long, twisting, sometimes lonesome and mysterious, but also enchanted and miraculous, road.

This morning I was washing a few dishes and gazing out of the kitchen window at a yellow-leafed maple tree in the back yard. The bright morning sun had turned it into a breathtaking gold almost too brilliant to look upon. Set against the azure-blue, cloudless sky, it was quite awe-inspiring and, as wondrous natural scenes quite often do, filled me a deep sense that the Creator of this tree (and me) was smiling because my thoughts, gratitude and worship were turned toward Him.

My grandson, Raven, gave me that tree quite a few years ago. He was just a little guy then. I didn't get to see him very often, but, from time to time we had some great outings -- camping, canoeing, fishing -- and there was, and is, a definite bond between us.

Raven has always been a seer -- not in the sense of a mystic, psychic, but he "sees" things that most folks hardly even notice and takes a single-minded interest in them, studying them minutely and with great perseverance. He had noticed that several tiny seedlings only a couple of inches high had sprouted from the seeds dropped from a large golden maple in his parent's yard. He thought this was neat and, knowing how I love planting things, he had carefully scooped up a seedling with a spoon, placed it in a small, paper cup and kept it watered. When I came to visit, he proudly presented me with a "tree."

Every time I look at that handsome tree -- now as tall as my house -- I think of that small boy, now taller than me, who gave it to me. And in the fall when it turns into a miracle of golden beauty, it seems to me that it just might have some of his spirit.

This autumn, I've seen a signpost in the blazing golden splendor of a maple tree given to me by a small boy captivated by the infinite. It simply states: "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world."

T&D Columnist Rush Button can be reached by e-mail at buttonrl@aol.com or by phone at 803-534-3724.

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