Today, the calendar says autumn has arrived. The puddle may or may not agree. There may still be green leaves, warm afternoons, and absolutely nothing about today that looks dramatically different from yesterday. Yet, here we are at the beginning of another season.
I think I used to imagine seasons as replacements. Summer ends, autumn begins, and one leaves so another can take its place. But after spending September watching the change happen slowly behind the puddle, that doesn’t seem quite right anymore.
Autumn has been arriving for weeks. It has appeared through a little less daylight, a slightly different breeze, changes in the sounds and visitors, and light falling differently across the water. One small sign has followed another. Today doesn’t erase summer, but simply gives a name to what has already been becoming.
Maybe that’s true of many thresholds in our lives. We mark certain days because we need markers. Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, retirements, moves, beginnings, and endings help us recognize important thresholds. Dates help us understand where we are.
But most of the actual becoming happened before we arrived at the date. Much of it will continue afterward. Today, I am thinking less about what autumn means I am leaving and more about what this season might allow me to see.
Soon, the leaves will begin letting go. When they do, I will be able to see through trees that have hidden parts of the landscape all summer. Birds I haven’t noticed may appear, visitors may change, and the puddle, patio, sounds, and view from my chair will become another version of the place I have learned to love. Maybe every season reveals something the one before it couldn’t.
Summer gave me fullness through long days, green trees, wildlife, noise, growth, and activity. Autumn may offer a clearer view, cooler air, different colors, a slowing down, and the reminder that release can be beautiful too. I don’t know yet. That’s the invitation.
I don’t have to decide what autumn is going to mean before I’ve lived it. I can let the season introduce itself. Maybe we could offer ourselves the same permission when life changes. Instead of immediately deciding whether the next chapter will be better or worse, maybe we can ask, “What might become possible here that wasn’t possible before?”
Not every new season is one we would choose. Some transitions arrive without invitation. There are chapters of life we enter reluctantly. But even then, we don’t know everything about them on the first day.
There may be things we will discover, people who will meet us there, strength we didn’t know we had, new ways of doing familiar things, and different kinds of beauty. Those possibilities do not exist because the previous season needed to end. They do not mean we should be grateful for every change. They simply remind us that life continues to contain things we haven’t encountered yet.
Today, autumn is officially here behind the puddle. I don’t need summer to disappear before I welcome it. There is room for both. I can hold gratitude for what has been, curiosity about what is coming, and enough presence to stand here at the threshold without rushing toward either one.
So, welcome, autumn. I don’t know what you will bring. But I’ll be here, watching.
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