Falling into autumn

Today I noticed a significant shift in the season. A few degrees colder, a lot more of a stiff breeze, and the definite need for a coat! If you're anything like me, then going outdoors a few times per day is an absolute must for staying fresh, mentally well, and helping to move any brain fug that settles when indoors, especially if your routine involves being in front of a computer for any length of time! So when I got my walking trainers on and my dog ready to set out this morning, and I found we both had to battle some powerful winds and the occasional heavy shower, I really got a sense that today if feels like we are moving into autumn.

I don't mind autumn actually, and in fact, there are things about autumn that I genuinely look forward to: cosy jumpers and PJs, hot buttered toast and tea, cinnamon on everything, and lighting the fire! I don't even mind that the weather (here in the north of England at least) is a lot less comfortable... It gives us the prompt we need to make ourselves comfortable indoors, and shelter from the dark, often miserable days and nights. That said, I still need to get outside (as does my dog!) and that means doing things differently. Small adaptations like waterproofs, or taking a brolly, wearing sturdier boots and certainly when it gets really cold and damp - helping my pooch get into her walking jacket too! So I'm not mourning the summer, but I am aware of the seasonal change, and noticing how it affects me.

This afternoon's walk was less about getting soaked and more about being blown about! It was a bright yet very breezy stomp, and of all the weathers we experience, strong winds are probably my least favourite. Perhaps I get a bit too much sensory overwhelm from the noise and the sensation, but mostly I think it's the potential for damage that affects me. As I walked I pondered this, paying attention to the trees and how they bend and flex in response to the wind's force. I noticed just how much swirling debris there was rushing by our feet, the scatterings of leaves and twigs and such. What struck me was just how colourful they all were. I stopped to pick up a few that were nearby, and each leaf was a completely different colour. Gorgeous peaches, burnt oranges, deep maroons and muted greens and golds. Then the conkers! I love to have a shiny, smooth, pebble-like horse chestnut in my pocket at this time of year; they make excellent fidget tools. There really is so much to be grateful for in the autumn!

Rounding the corner of the final part of our walk I contemplated what would happen if leaves didn't get blown off the trees each year? What would happen if the chestnuts didn't fall to the ground? My guess is they would rot in place, and be a block for the new growth to come in the next season. There would be less nutrition for the ground around the trees, less food for the bugs and worms, and certainly it would make planting new trees very tricky. And let's not forget - much more difficult to collect conkers to play with in the school field - and what a joy that is as a child. Furthermore, what would happen if the trees were inflexible, unable to move when the wind gets wild? Again, I'm guessing they might eventually break, or fall over. Their flexibility is part of their beauty and a necessary way of being.

These ponderings reminded me of some of our human experiences . Our need for new growth is facilitated by old things falling away, or sometimes being pruned or battered by storms when they come. Sometimes what we lose is painful, brutal even. Yet sometimes the shedding feels natural, unforced. Almost imperceptible. Similarly, when there are difficult periods to weather in our lives, we might feel the need to bend and flex in response, using our capacity for resilience when we have that resource; at other times, hunkering down in a safe place, with safe, comforting companions might be a more loving way to take care of ourselves. Having the knowledge that the storm will eventually pass, that new growth will come and will be a thing of beauty, is something I find comfort in. As is recognising that the falling away of old things, things that might keep us from experiencing a flourishing future, is an essential part of our process too.

In response to this meandering autumnal thought-scape, I painted my collection of colourful floor-treasure. As I was studying each piece, I noticed a tiny companion in amongst the dead leaves: a tiny snail. I watched as it emerged from its home and slowly travelled from one leaf to another. And it's still there now.

If you find being outdoors enjoyable or life-giving, I encourage you to keep doing that - regardless of the weather. Next time you're outside in nature, look around your feet - notice what you're treading on and near. Is there evidence of the season changing? Or look up - take in the sky and the trees and whatever is overhead. How is it responding to the weather? And if you need to wrap up under a duvet and focus on sheltering and retreating from life for a while - take what you need to. Enjoy simply being. Go slow. Settle.

All images created by Emily Fewtrell © 2024