I feel it. It’s on the edges of the trees, lingering in the coolness of the morning; that transition, that moment when summer fades and fall comes into focus.
It’s moments like these, when the utter heat of summer gives way to something new, to a coolness, to a freshness.
Fall is a transition season, when we move from the way it has been, to the way it will be…for awhile…until the next transition.
From fall to winter, and then from winter to spring…and time moves on.
But today, I felt a shift, a beginning. Shortened days, golden Aspen, orange and brown and crimson painting the landscape.
It has begun. The colors are on the tips, on the edges of things. Not yet brilliant, but there. Making their way gently to become that scene of brilliance in months to come.
A gift from earth.
A change. Progress. Movement. Time marches. We change, we grow with the seasons.
As I write, I wonder about that, about my growth. What has become of that? Am I still in the dead of winter in my own thought, have my colors changed? Or have they just fallen, only to be crunched beneath time and disappointment?
Am I moving on? Am I growing?
I look to the earth for answers. I look to the sky to show me the way. What is my purpose?
What does my space look like?
I wonder at such things…that begin at the edges. Like this early fall day. So warm, and yet the possibilities of what is to come lingers on the edges, just waiting for that right moment.
When fall will become the center…and I wonder if this is day that we will find our authentic space.
Call to action: Honor this transition time by journaling about change. Set a timer for 15 minutes and just write a stream-of-consciousness entry. Don’t worry about grammar or punctuation. Just write and see what comes out.