Autumn

the air is changed

scattered on the wet path

the leaves are falling

SAM_0962

Autumn is here; the mornings are cold, as are the nights. I am sitting at my writing desk, looking out at the garden. It is still wet, in places, from the rain we had earlier. Leaves lie on the paths and in the flower beds; more fall every day. The leaves make me think of autumn, a season of transition. It has neither the light, heat nor energy of summer, but neither has it the cold or quiet of winter. Not yet. It is a liminal time, an in between place, a kind of pause. Echoes of both summer and winter are reflected in the changing light of autumn. Some days I head out, wrapped up in scarf and boots, only to find by midday that I am overdressed. Other days I wish I’d remembered to bring a jacket. It’s an uncertain time; the weather is hard to predict, changeable. The falling leaves and chilly air carry with them a sense of loss. The change cannot be slowed, or stopped. We have to let go of the trees covered in green, the blue skies. Autumn reminds me that loss and letting go are part of the order of things, that we cannot always anticipate the road ahead. Sometimes I wish it were different, that I could hold tight in my hand the things I cherish. Keep the paths straight and familiar. Stop winter coming. But autumn is what I need, a time to release what keeps my hands too full and my mind too busy for new thoughts. Winter is a time to root more deeply into the convictions and patterns that will shape the summers to come. It is an opportunity to reflect on what I most want to carry into the seasons ahead. I must let autumn do its work so that there is space in my life for new growth. That is autumn’s gift.

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