October comes clothed in calm, a season of both plenty and pause, ushering in the poetry of rainfall, cool winds, and shortened days. It does not roar like summer’s blaze or creep in with winter’s silence; rather, it drifts into our lives like a quiet guest bearing unexpected gifts. October’s joy is subtle yet sure, like a psalm whispered at dawn – steady enough to soothe, yet striking enough to stir the soul.
The rains descend in abundance, as though heaven has opened its storehouse. Each drop feels like a blessing poured out, recalling the words of the prophet Joel: “He will cause to come down for you the rain, the former rain, and the latter rain in the first month.” The thirsty ground receives its portion with gladness, clothed again in green like Eden reborn. Rivers swell with praise, fields bow in thanksgiving, and every leaf seems to testify that the Giver of life has not withheld His hand.
October is also a time in which nature – through the instruction of God – urges the trees to shed their leaves in unison, like a well-rehearsed choir. God sends the rains to prepare those fallen leaves to rot and return as nourishment, transforming them into nitrogen for the soil. What seems like loss is in fact renewal; what falls in silence becomes the unseen strength of tomorrow’s harvest.
The cooler air carries the cadence of Sabbath. After the furnace of summer, October breathes rest upon the land. The winds are gentler, like the Spirit moving over still waters, refreshing body and soul alike. It is a reminder that the Almighty has woven divine rhythms into creation: a time to labour and a time to lay down the plow, a time to sow and a time to gather in. October teaches that rest is not idleness but a holy portion – sanctified from the beginning as surely as the seventh day itself.
Yet the month is not without paradox. The sun, once generous with its hours, grows sparing. It rises swiftly, as though summoning man to diligence, and sets early, cutting short the pursuits of the flesh. The shortening days whisper an ancient truth: “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” October reminds us that time is no possession of ours, but a trust – to be redeemed in the light of eternity.
In these early nights lies hidden wisdom. They fall like Sabbath shadows, calling us from ceaseless activity to reflection and repentance. They remind us that not all fruit grows in daylight – some roots deepen in the dark of night. Just as Israel gathered manna only in the morning, so October bids us to seize the day, to value what is given, and to rest when the evening curtain draws near.
October’s joy, then, is a sacred balance: rain that restores, winds that refresh, days that humble, and nights that renew. It is both harvest and holy pause, a season that mirrors the divine cycles of sowing and reaping, working and resting, beginning and ending. Like the feasts of the Lord, October points beyond itself, reminding us that abundance belongs to Yahuwah, and rest is found in Him alone.
Thus, October’s joy is not mere weather, but witness: the rain testifies of His mercy, the cool air of His refreshment, the fallen leaves of His renewing wisdom, the shortened days of His order, and the early nights of His eternal rest.
Mordecai A. Isreal
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