light & gather

The cool green of the tree canopy shielded me from the sun all summer as I walked my usual trail. Melting from the heat, my stride carried me in and out of the beams of light that slipped through the tree leaves. Then one day, I looked out my window and saw a singular red leaf amongst the canopy of green. I checked my calendar, it was the end of August, the last full month of summer.

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At first, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, anxiety following joy as the list of things to do grew in my mind. Fall is a big deal in our house, and I like to be prepared. I started mapping out birthdays and seasonal outings along with seasonally appropriate meal prep. The sun, giving me its last little bump of energy, before getting softer and less intense with the coming season.

They scattered the ground making little mosaics, that reassured me time was changing and eventually everything did.

After that, I started to see more red and orange leaves. One, then two, and two would turn to a cluster. Little pockets of oranges and reds started to appear on more and more trees. They scattered the ground making little mosaics, that reassured me time was changing and eventually everything does. It was as if they had given all their energy back to the sun so they could stand in its place against the moody gray autumn sky.

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Soon there would be pumpkins in the patches, sunflowers in the fields. My husband and I planned to take our son on his first hayride. We were taking suggestions for Halloween costumes that we could make out of thrifted clothes. And I started to consider making a recipe for the perfect apple pie because apples and cinnamon are my husband’s favorite.

I offer to make sweet potato fritters and soup with kale to hold him over

I found myself stopping to observe more and more as the leaves changed. I told my husband and noticed here and there that he would take a premature inhale of the almost-fallen air. I offer to make sweet potato fritters and soup with kale to hold him over  as we watch the days get shorter and shorter.

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All of this changes and yet it happens so slowly that it feels like you don’t have a say, you just fall into place. As these gradual changes happen, I find myself moving from heated restlessness to silent suspense. Quiet, watchful with nothing to do, not anymore, because the summer leaves are changing. The energy I once relied on to carry me on my walks droops under the weight of cool air and longer nights. It covers me like an old friend, saying, “Welcome to the slow season.“