“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.”

~Joseph Campbell

While I was away, autumn came and went. I knew it would be so but the fact of it still surprised and saddened me. Spending nearly three weeks away from the familiar landscapes called home, one should expect to see changes when you return. What I realized is that I did not see the majority of the trees burst into golds and reds and oranges. I came home to bare branches and mounds of brown littering the ground. The ravine near my house, the one I watch as it goes from fullness of summer life to the brilliance of autumn splendor, is now a nest of naked branches reaching heavenward. Only a few oak trees hold onto the now fading red of their fall fashion.

These last few days I have been wrestling with the jet lag that comes from flying six hours out of one day and into the same one that has not yet arrived. This is something that messes with the body, the mind and the spirit. I find myself hungry at the oddest times and yet, when I do the math, realize that it is breakfast or lunch or supper time in Ireland. And so to be in this already altered state and to have missed autumn is a double whammy.

This morning as I opened the door to allow the Big Black Dog his first romp of the day, the smell of winter lingered in the air. I have to admit it was a pleasant scent….one that already conjured up the opportunity for big bowls of soup and a good book read near the fire. I tried not to think about the colors I missed and the rhythm that has been interrupted.

Yesterday I sat near one of Minnesota’s many lakes eating my lunch. Chili. I watched as runners and bikers and walkers moved quickly in the cool afternoon air. At one point my eyes were attracted ahead of me to a movement that was beautiful and welcomed. The wind had picked up and caught the leaves of one of the trees still holding onto the life of summer. Slowly they fell, without a sound, swaying in the breeze of this day, this autumn day until they slept on the ground below. Their act of letting go, letting go and falling, caught something deep in my chest.

This is the gift of autumn. This reminder of the letting go of the life that has been to make room for the resting and the waiting of what is yet to be is what this season offers. It seems I had perhaps not missed autumn after all. The message was still present and willing to wake me up, to ask its yearly question: What must be let go? What beautiful or terrible thing must slip out of my grasp, or the grasp of this world, so something new can come into being?

Sitting in my office, looking out at the enormous oak tree which continues to offer its wisdom to me season after season, I can see the brown, dead and dying leaves holding on and holding out for the next mighty wind to bring about a letting go moment. I will watch until this beautiful, twisted beacon is bare. I will watch as the snow flakes fall. I will watch as the buds burst open with green once again.

This is the wisdom of Creation. This is the gift of the changing seasons. This is the invitation of letting go and trusting what is yet to be.