This morning, I was up before the sun. I lit a candle and a fire. I imagined the sun recognizing the kindred flames in my house as she climbed higher into the eastern sky, casting first light on the oaks and the chickadees at the edge of the field. I watched the light rise, slowly and steadily birthing a new day. What an honor to witness this passage.
This daily miracle is one that I often miss in the summer. The sun rises early in the summer, very early. But now, just a week after the autumnal equinox, I am rising with, or even before the sun. I am grateful to be in such good company. The light and heat of the sun beckon me to meet the new day with fresh eyes and heart. May I be a beacon for someone somewhere as well.
A few hours later, I pulled on a wool sweater before heading out for a walk. At the first touch of the cool air on my face, I felt a wash of nostalgia. The combination of the crisp, cool air, bright blue sky, and warm cozy sweater ushered in comfort and familiarity. In a flash, I recognized the 49 years of autumn that I have lived and thousands of years of autumns that predate me. This season of transition invites me to re-member my place within an expansive cycle of being. May I also offer an opportunity for connection and remembering to the human and more than human beings around me.
For dinner, I made homemade soup. Chopping vegetables and simmering the stock slowed and calmed my senses. The dozens of things on my to-do list fell away as the pace and rhythm of dinner prep took over. Sitting by candle light to eat my simple (and delicious!) meal of soup and bread, I give thanks for the teaching and nourishment of Creation. May the work of my life also nourish and sustain.
I end the day as I began, by candlelight. The sun set a few hours ago and the glow of the computer glares harshly in the dimly lit room. But I am inspired to write and reconnect with the readers of this blog — and I am grateful for the inspiration. I do not know what is ahead in this fall season and if it will lead back to a more regular rhythm of writing. I do know that I have welcomed the new season thoroughly today. And, it has welcomed me.
How have you noticed this new season arriving in your life?
Lovely. Thank you for these reminders.
Thank you for writing again. I also have been processing the shift from gentle summer days to a brisker fall pace. Putting the vegetable garden to bed feels like a funeral. The full hummingbird feeder waits idly. Even the giant sunflowers hang their heads in mourning. And yet, what a gift it all was this past summer. I am most grateful.
I am grateful for your sharing, Linda.