On the cusp of autumn … leaning in

By Mary Kay Roth

Roaming Nine-Mile Prairie earlier this week, I hiked through gilded grasses and scarlet sumac, greens turning to russet, fields of bobbing sunflowers – all nestled beneath a cobalt blue sky.  Eventually, somewhere out on the prairie, when I was lost to almost anyone else in sight, I stopped.  Closed my eyes.  Listened.  And waited. Waited for the tilt of the earth to truly lean … toward autumn. 

The calendar claims the season started Sept. 22, but I would submit instead, on this first day of October, we are poised precariously on the cusp. 

Yes, on these brisk mornings, the autumn light works as a soft, forgiving filter, sifted through gauze, lightly powdering all things gold, turning the world into buttery warm colors and long soft shadows.  This is the season of “almost-fall” – of mists, goldenrod, honey crisp apples and mellowing fruit. Of monarchs gliding in slow motion, fog rising over the dawn and woodsmoke scenting the dusk.   

But this is not quite fall.  Almost, but not quite.  

Rest assured, the true authentic autumn will drift down upon us at any moment – in the coming October weeks, perhaps even the coming October days.  

The moment the sugar maples deepen into an unimaginable blaze of orange … The moment we choose to tromp upon crackling leaves through Indian Caves State Park … The moment we surrender to the season of cozy and snug, surrender to an urge of stocking up and cooking up rich soups, butternut squash and apple cobblers … The moment when the leaves fall like nature’s confetti, creating a technicolor quilt beneath our feet, gathering in heaps churned up by whirling winds – adversary to raking homeowners, wonder to kids jumping into the piles.

Personally, I have never needed autumn quite this much.

The particular brutality of our past summer’s crazy, feverish heat pretty much locked us indoors, the earth shriveled with dried-up creek beds and strangled browning fields.  All of this with the backdrop of scary politics, the unexpected threat of nuclear peril – good grief, even our sacred football tradition falling apart.  

I believe those sweltering days have left us uneasy, not sure of much anymore.  But I do know, most certainly, that autumn will inevitably arrive – as absolute as the geese migrating, honking above the clouds … and the juncos soon after.

We humans aren’t so good at letting go of things with ease, but autumn reminds us of the impermanence of everything, a season of transition, a reminder of the inevitability of change – like it or not, ready or not.

Autumn invites us to linger and remember, to light candles and harvest our time.  To wrap ourselves in flannel and fleece, woolen socks and mittens. To warm our apple cider and light our fireplace, clear our gutters, stash away our garden hoses and drain our mowers.  

Forget New Year’s.  This is the authentic time for release and letting go, a time for resets and resolutions: When a delightful melancholy and sweet pensiveness give us permission to pause, nourish and recover … When we will gather the last of the basil and sage, plant crocus and daffodil bulbs, then let the garden rest.   

And we will rest, taking a deep cleansing breath of cool, chilled air.

A grand, generous gesture from our land, autumn gives us pause, a quiet path to navigate between the loud, sunshine days of summer and the hushed, bitter press of winter.  

Make no mistake, the cold winds are gonna blow.  Mid-term elections are ahead, along with roller coaster gasoline prices and frost on the pumpkin.

So, please, don’t waste these days. 

Lean in.  Shift. Slow down. Savor.

Toast a marshmallow.  Lie down in the prairie grass. 

Breathe in the season of nutmeg and cloves. 

Bask in the season of gold.

Cherish it. 

Before it ambles away.