Along the Garden Path
I looked out my upstairs window this morning and gazed down into a cluster of gold and bronze vine-maple leaves. Of course, I didn't need to see the color to know fall was here. It had been slipping in gradually since late August: The shadows of afternoon grew longer with the angle of the sun and mornings came with a faint chill.
An early September hike on Washington State's Mount Rainier turned up sun-basking, whistling marmots already wearing white, winter coats, although few leaves had begun to change.
Now that it's October, I miss summer's long days of light. I understand how many can suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, a depression attributed to less sunlight. In years past, I've suffered from it too. Since then, I've adjusted my attitude toward fall and many things - a fear of change, being one.
The autumnal changes - leaves floating like golden birds, fallen apples turning cidery in the compost bin -- are just the slow transformation that is a natural part of life. It's a time to slow down from summer and reflect. It's part of being alive and life is never static. When I'm outdoors, I'm most aware of being one with God's universe. I bend with the seasons, breathe in life.
When I was a child, all the coming of autumn meant was a new beginning - a new school year, new adventures, new clothes, new things to learn, new and old friends to greet, new possibilities unfolding.
I have learned through the years that there is no better time for change than the present, no better time to be happy and grateful, no better time to ask for guidance and give up struggling alone.
With the bitter-sweetness of fall -- the death of annuals, decaying leaves -- fall reminds us to consider changes we need to make, chances we need to take, bridges we need to build over canyons of hard feelings. One wonderful change for me this fall is sharing my thoughts here on this Web site. It's a privilege to be with you on the garden path.