This is my season. I could sit absently for hours watching as the Great Gaia prepares for her slumber. She gives an awe-inspiring color show that battles infinite the greatest fireworks display known to man. With colors that any being has yet to mimic, she prepares each swatch for the patchwork quilt she will bed with before she casts them on the wind to lie in perfect repose.
There is peace in this preparation. During this time there are ten thousand stories that dance across my mind as I see once again that which cannot be recreated anywhere but beyond the walls that limit us, control us, and keep us from the crisp, bolstering breaths of freedom. I am jealous. A shade of green somewhere between the first new blade of spring grass come alive and the stern, stubborn, unrelenting spruce in deep winter. For just this little bit of time, I am vast and alive as I too prepare for dormancy.
I think I write better after remembering what it means to be still. There is power in quieting my mind to see what exists without my interference. The freeze is coming. Frost has already made an appearance and dotted the landscape with bright white patches that glint against the morning sun. The time is close and once it comes, there is no return to appreciate this time again until long after the world shakes away the winter dreams and reaches for the warmth of the spring suns.
This is my season. It is a time of reaping and of putting away the fruits of summer labor. For me it is also a time of great appreciation as I am reminded that every season has a gift to give. This time, this season…is color, in every shade and hue, bright and vivid, but also demure and graceful all at the same time. Some people love the fiery reds and oranges of the sugar trees, and they are glorious. Me, I like the deep smokey purples that the silver maples put on for their fall garb. They are eloquent, and regal without the pomp and circumstance of being the brightest or the tallest. Then again, I watch them all year round waiting for the rains when they will turn their silver undersides up to catch a drink from the coming storm.
I’ve learned to watch, to appreciate the view that is exuberant in the everyday mundane. There is so much to take in and we never seem to have enough time to truly do so. The color show is the Hail Mary pass that is supposed to grab and hold our attention. I hope it does.
This is my season. This is when I come alive and remember to stop and see and feel and listen. The morning air holds kisses of dew to walk through and be quieted to know that the quiet before the storm now is the sleep before the wake and when we wake again, it will be time to run and plant and play and sing.
So many consider autumn the end of the summer season. It’s not. It’s the beginning of the cycle where we begin again with a whole new future to have and make better than the last. The world takes the time to prepare for a quiet rest to recharge the land and the spirit for the next race. We should too.
I encourage everyone to take whatever time they can spare to sit quietly and observe the grand preparations as Gaia prepares her bed with infinite care tucking in the flowers and insulating the ground where next years beauty prepares to become. It’s magical. Quiet your mind, still your soul, hush your voice and observe the magnificence that you are privileged to exist in. The beginning is coming, it’s not the end, not a dream. It’s real. Open your eyes to see it before you miss it again.
This is my season. It’s your season too.