Welcome back, friends!
I don’t want to overuse the privilege of recycling last year’s work, but over the weekend our apple harvest began in earnest, and I went hunting for my ode to apples (my favorite fruit!) from last year, to share here.
While I still intend to share that essay later in the week, in my hunt I stumbled across this devotional that I had forgotten about and was reminded how much I still resonate with these emotions and musings.
My hope and prayer is that by resurrecting this devotional it will reach a new audience, and that those who enjoyed it last year will find themselves once more in its return.
I appreciate every one of you so very much, and look forward to your discussions below!
S.E. Reid
with the sweetness of September
comes a yearning sound,
as though the Artist
dipped His brush
in the unnameable color of grief
and splashed it across the sky
the trees
the sun's face;
and those of us who know lament
by one or two hues
are taken aback
to see it vivid
vibrant
bold;
the color of September is a mystery
that we already know the answer to
but have no name for.
There are those who love fall and cannot wait for it to arrive, and there are those who can’t stand the thought of autumn’s arrival and try to hold out for just a little bit longer.
This devotional is for the second group, bless you. Because I see you, and I feel a real twinge of sympathy for you. I’m sure that all the talk of sweater weather, pumpkin spice, back-to-school, and other fall trappings has you grinding your teeth already. If you love the warmth and sweetness of summer, then fall probably feels like the end of something. It probably feels like a sort of annual grief.
I submit to you that that’s exactly what fall is. A sort of grief. The end of something.
All of the things that autumn-lovers love about fall—pumpkin spice, sweaters, candles, cozy, etc—are at their heart the result of the year’s decline. Pumpkins and apples are finally ripe and can last through the winter. Spices like cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom are all warming to the body. The cold, rainy, darker weather necessitates cozy clothes, blankets, and candles (for ambiance, of course).
Even though we’ve created a system where we artificially speed up in the fall because it’s when we start our school year, our bodies want to slow down. They are built for it. Sluggishness, cozying up our burrows, and eating higher-calorie foods are all natural aspects of the body’s reaction to shorter days and cooler weather.
And yes, there are people who love those things. I am most partial to spring, myself, but fall is a close second because my hobbit-heart does love any excuse to be cozy.
But I also understand if you don’t like those things. We all grieve in different ways. I suppose the best way to approach the discomfort that often arises with autumn is to recognize, first, that you are grieving. And second, that grief is not linear. You are allowed to process it any way that you need to. It will pass, if given the space.
In this autumnal season, as we draw closer to the season of Samhain and All Hallows’ Eve, there will be much talk in this newsletter about ghosts, ancestors, grief, and the hope surrounding our dealings with death.
But that’s for later.
For now, let us all muse upon the subtle romance inherent to the inevitability of decline. In this world, things end. And autumn can be our teacher if we allow her to be. We can sit with her in this annual grief, bring her our discomfort, and find mysterious healing hidden deep in her embrace.
Discussion Questions
How do you navigate the change between seasons—any seasons? Do you notice those transitions? Are there certain seasonal transitions that are harder than others, for you? What tools do you use to get through…or are you in need of better tools in your toolbox?
Moved by this piece (or simply feel like supporting my coffee habit) and want to contribute a one-time donation? Click the Tip Jar button below!
For more writings like this, subscribe for free!
Honestly I have never been so aware of the changes of seasons as I have been while reading the Wildroot Parables. Every season change implies saying goodbye to something loved; saying hello to something new and uncertain; embracing things changing beyond our control; preparing for a future we can only vaguely plan for. As in the march of seasons, so in the seasons of life. I am an optimist by nature and not by decision, so I enjoy the march of seasons and have always found something to love in each of them. It's a reminder that life isn't something we can control. Nevertheless, you've opened my eyes to a perspective that I never considered before, that these transitions are not easy and not so easily ignored or rationalized away.
Fall is my favorite season but I know that not everyone feels that way. The month that is always hardest for me to get through is February. The calendar may say 28 days but it always feels longer. Maybe it seems like winter is trying to hold on and spring is trying to open the door and it is just an emotional jumble for me.