The Many Faces of Autumn
Autumn is: Contemplative, like watching the last wisps of curling smoke disappear into the stars after a marshmallow roast, or the slow satisfaction of seeing the hillside behind the house change from green to rust red, vibrant yellow and hazy orange, fading at last into dusty grays and browns.
Lively, like a gathering of neighbors bringing in the harvest, canning parties in the kitchen, and the glitter of holiday planning.
Mournful, when the blooms of summer fade and wither, begrudgingly settling in for a colorless season bereft of their palettes of chlorophyll and sunshine.
Autumn is harvest, gratitude, warmth and cold, anticipation, preparation, loss, fear; Autumn is culmination.
Turning the Soil of Grief
Today I feel it all as I turn the earth in my garden boxes, pulling and digging, squirreling away the last golden potatoes, throwing the rest to the fire. A friend of mine is in the rending throes of divorce. “I’m deep in grief”, she told me. I know that grief. It feels much like cleaning out garden boxes in the fall. It’s a bit violent, ripping up all that’s been worked for, all that is dried and dead and fruitless. Divorce is the loss of so many things, big and small, laced through every facet of life.
Making Space to Rest and Heal
I stand and push my shovel into the soil, turning over every inch, sifting through it, looking for weeds, disease, bugs, and rocks. When the soil is clean and treated, I spread it evenly and let it rest. Every inch. That takes time. Painful time.
Then comes the resting, when you catch your breath and let yourself cry and grieve. You realize that you’re surviving and annihilation is not inevitable. You learn that pain can live alongside peace, an exacting teacher that is appreciated only later, looking back through eyes of experience.
“It’s okay to cry over the ashes,” I tell her. “Sometimes tears are necessary for things to grow.” I wash my hands and head to the swing, where I slowly spin as I think about my friend, and autumn, and culmination.
The Promise of a New Season
I enjoy the last warmth of the day and think about the coming seasons. The healing that happens in the restful winter. The bursting and growth of the spring. On the other side of tears, there’s a new garden sprouting up. Fresh little seedlings, looking for sunshine.
This kind of garden takes time to learn how to nurture. There will be weeds and disease, and sometimes the crops will fail. But there will also be blooming and good fruit and satisfaction. There is a Master Gardener watching very closely. He guides our hands as we plant, and dig and pull.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;” Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4.
She’ll feel the sunshine again.
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