Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.
Emily Dickinson, from "November"
Let’s not rush this, shall we? Autumn and the in-between times, I mean. I once saw November as merely a gateway month to the festivities of Christmas, but it's really so much more. I am not on the no-early-Christmas-decorating patrol. Deck the halls whenever you please, my friends.
Nevertheless, do notice the golden light of these precious, shorter days. Inhale deeply, taking in the colors that are dancing on the branches and then in the sky. Exhale, noticing them now at your feet, and don’t believe for a second that it's “basic” or silly to delight in this time of year.
There are so many things we want to rush: current struggles, growing pains of adjusting to a new place, waiting on more answers. But the best sort of change is rarely automatic. Leaves subtly paint themselves day by day and then twirl around us, showing off the whimsy of patience. Initially the change is quiet, like the first tuning 'A' at the opening of an orchestra. This brings forth a symphony of bold strokes, of grandeur we shouldn't speed past, of music unique to this moment, never to be heard exactly the same again.
The photo above is a corner of a field I drive by nearly every day. The red and orange leaves have fallen on the field, and during golden hour it gives way to the most beautiful, warm glow. I look for it every morning and afternoon--little ones in their seats, with a skipping CD playing in the stereo.
I've been trying to put together a good playlist for autumn. Mine is eclectic as all get out, from crooners like Nat King Cole, feelers like Taylor Swift, to good ol' classics like Chopin. We have pumpkins out front, mums in a vase, and gourds on the mantle. In an earthen pitcher from our trip to El Salvador, I have cotton stems from our years in South Carolina. I pick up conkers (European horse-chestnuts, aka buckeyes) off the ground, and I hoard a few cans of pumpkin in the back of my cupboard because they're hard to come by here. A candle is often burning, too. It's simple, natural, and cozy--at least I think so.
On November 11th the United States of America honors veterans, and on the same day in England they observe Remembrance Day, where they honor the fallen soldiers. Many wear red poppies on their coats, and the following Sunday there are services at each village war memorial: "Lest we forget." This somber gratitude in autumn gives way to thankful, joyful hearts in weeks to come.
There is a sense of melancholy in autumn. It signals the coming of winter, of cold days and less sunshine. A beautiful, faint mourning is involved, but please, don't rush these heavier days. We've all lived through a lot of uncomfortable things the last two years. The first year I tried to rush them, stuff them down, make them go away. Not now. Let's walk through them. Watch the leaves fall and seasons shift and rest in the knowledge that no matter what is going on, it can be made better by the warmth of unconditional love and the power of noticing beauty right in front of you. Seasons come and go, and we can grow with them. Linger in the subtle enchantment of November, lean into gratitude, and allow yourself to be wooed by the right-now. It's a magical little spot, I think.
Comments