I love the changing seasons. I love the way the air changes, the way everything smells new.
I love the fall especially. It always seemed to me that the fall ought to depress me. Things die in the fall. Autumn makes way for a season of darkness, and I don't care much for darkness. Still, I find myself drawn in to the season . . . the crisp air, the lights glowing yellow in houses at an early dusk, the knowledge that it is finally, finally pumpkin pie season.
This is the first cool week of autumn, and as the temperature drops (and as I smirk fondly at LA natives bundling up like Eskimos for 65 degree weather), I find my frantic little heart quieting down and curling up against the season. I think this is why I love the changing seasons . . . I love the gentle call to change with nature, to join in the transition, to remember that I, too, am a living thing, and as such, I must honor the seasons and systems of my life.
Fall tells me it's time to quiet down, reflect, and rest. Fall is like that quiet hour at the end of a crazy Saturday night, when I step back into my house and let the music beating in my head dissipate against the silent stillness of home. Fall is the moment when I let myself wash my face slowly, turn down the bed slowly, breathe slowly. It's the moment when I let go of the urgency and drive of the hours before and remember to be still and come back inside myself.
I felt this the other day while walking to Panera for lunch. As my weekend drew to a close, I felt the guilt of free days wasted. My weekend was pleasant enough, but there were so many things I could have accomplished if I had pushed more, if I had been more energetic, more driven.
But it's hard to hold on to such thoughts with the soft, cool air of early October breathing over me. It feels like the whisper of God—or so the hyper-romanticizing autumn poet within me likes to think—reminding me that for every moment that belongs to production, there is an equally important moment that belongs to silence, reflection, and the rest that brings us back to life in the Spring with wide eyes and willing spirits.
Here's to a soul-settling season for us all.
- Abigail Wurdeman
