Autumn Rain
Yesterday I awoke to the first cold wind of late autumn. As I drove to church the sky in the southwest grew darker with storm clouds as rain glistened my windshield. Carefully navigating my way as a result of my truck’s unreliable wip- ers, I arrived and walked hastily to the entry doors. Arriving with ample time to spare since I neglected to reset the clock after daylight savings time had ex- pired, I stood for a moment under the entry covering and enjoyed the fragrance of a light autumn storm. This is my most beautiful time of year. There is a dis- tinct feeling of melancholy and intrigue that over powers me and sends my senses into a tailspin in weather like this. I think it stems back to my mission experience in New Zealand.
It has been thirty-three and a half years since my return home from serving in that wonderland of sun and rain. And hidden somewhere deep in the corridors of my mind are vast memories of a lone fisherman casting his net into a sea of hungry fish waiting for every catch to surface. I thought about it enough today that I even mentioned it in my testimony during Sacrament meeting. One of the most prominent memories is the unrelenting and merciless yet refreshing forg- ing of the rain-drenched streets. Coupled with the dampness was the salty breeze that wrestled the maples and sycamores for dominances. Kicking up the fallen leaves as we strolled the hilly narrow streets has never escaped my mind.
