The fall colors surprised me. Driving from Oakhurst to Lone Pine, I wasn't ready for the aspens in their fiery state. I'm not complaining. The changing of leaves in autumn has always (for as long as I can remember) been a pretty special time of year for me. Growing up in Georgia, in a home surrounded by maples and oaks, I got used to watching the leaves make their shift as the air turned crisp until we gathered them all together on the ground and looked up at the naked trunk left in it's wake.
This past week gave me the opportunity to explore with a sweet friend of mine. We explored the depths of thought and experience as we traveled through the Eastern Sierra. We individually met with God at Convict Lake (pictured above) and then came back together in awe of our time spent there. We breeched conversations we'd never had, we found out things we hadn't known, and we shared wisdom with one another. It was life-giving. It was encapsulated by the greater experience of sloughing off the dead and dying leaves in order to give way to new growth. Aka, autumn.
