It is the season of letting go.
Green makes way for red and gold.
Winds blow with fierce intention
and what once held strong
now releases its grip on limb and bough.

These words began a piece I wrote for a collection of prayers, poems and reflections for a book entitled Autumn printed by the Iona Community’s Wild Goose Press. The writings would most likely be used by those preparing worship services but the invitation to reflect on the gifts of this season in which we now find ourselves reminded. me once again of the wisdom of the rhythms of Creation. This time of the year which we call ‘fall’ confronts us with the lessons of letting go, of slowing down, of being present to our own mortality. As I write this the leaves are dropping from a maple tree I have concerns about…its leaves have turned prematurely brown and an arborist has instructed me to watch it, to water it and to wait until spring to see if the summer’s drought has injured it and nothing more. Like with many of life’s circumstances, only time will tell.

It is the season of slowing down,
of remembering the bud and seed,
of measured light, dying beams,
slanting across the changing rhythm of our days.

Darkness is now coming earlier in the evenings and exiting later in the mornings. This change in light can bring on a melancholy, our bodies seem to need the light to propel ourselves off the mattress. Having been a morning person most of my adult life, I find the darkness something to grapple with, something to hold gently as my own rhythms shift and become accustomed to this shadowed beginning to the day. I have to remind myself of all the good things that come from darkness: babies in the womb, bulbs that will bloom from dark soil, stars that can only be seen on a background of blackened sky.

It is the season of returning,
falling back to the earth,
to the life that quivered in summer breezes,
to the energy that shone sun onto our upturned faces.

Endings are always difficult. Summer’s end carries the memory of color that arrived after winter’s white and spring’s promise only to burst into greens and reds and brilliant yellows with summer’s arrival. This circular movement reminds us of the cycle of birth, life, and death that exists in the Universe, a cycle of which we are all a part. How to rest in that wisdom and allow our bodies to settle in it? It is the always present call offered to us if we choose to listen, if we choose to stay awake. 

Creator of all seasons, enfold us in the wisdom of letting go.
Infuse us with the breath of slowing down.
Guide us in the dance of returning
as we rest and renew in this most holy season.

May this day find each of us looking up to the trees that want to teach us. May we spend time watching a leaf as it falls to its resting place. May we notice the skies in their brilliant blue as they make a home for fluffy, white clouds and birds in V-formation heading to their winter home. May we await the darkness with gratitude for all it houses. May we know the gift of letting go.