As I walked this afternoon along the bushland road near my home, small signs of autumn claimed my attention. Fallen pine-cones, mushrooms and toadstools dancing in the grass, the warm, musty odour of damp earth, the rain-washed sky – but most of all the trees, their topmost branches stained by the colours of the sun.
The slow, graceful dying of the summer always evokes the passage of human life. I am in my autumn years and love the richness of this time – the letting go of things that do not matter to embrace, wholeheartedly, the things that do. Friendship, caring, healing, celebrating life – laughing until the tears fall and the ribcage protests – making music for the sheer joy of expressing those things for which there are no words – dancing with my women friends as we feel the pulse of life in the soles of our feet.
We dance the autumn days with no regret. Winter will come and, in its wake, a different sense of joy in the warmth of the hearth and skeletal essence of the trees. But for now, the blaze of colour warms our lives.
The seasons change.