Autumn’s Brilliance
“…Our hair
Wendell Berry from his poem, “Ripening”
turns white with our ripening
as though to fly away in some
coming wind, bearing the seed
of what we know.”
The Autumn Equinox is the second time in Nature’s yearly cycle that darkness and light are most in balance. In the Northern Hemisphere, the autumn equinox arrives this year in our part of the world on September 22 and signifies the first day of Fall. It’s a season of ripening and harvest, rich with festivals. Here in the United States, during this time of year, we are usually saturated in color, activity, and earth’s generosity. For many of us, it’s a time of beginnings—a new school year, new and renewed friendships, fresh obligations. With so much newness and beginning, we may fail to notice the lengthening shadows, and Fall’s echo in the seasons of our lives.
Fall, we call it. I’ve always assumed the season before Winter was given that name because of what leaves do as the nights grow longer and the temperatures drop. One by one and eventually en masse, they turn brilliant colors and then let go. That’s something we humans, who are as much a part of nature as saplings and snow and deer and leaves, also do. It’s to our benefit to acknowledge and honor this truth for ourselves and each other. We might take a lesson from the Japanese for whom the Autumn Equinox is a holiday. Traditions include tending to the gravesites of ancestors and expressing gratitude to loved ones who have passed over.
Today, I’ll attend the funeral of a woman who, like the leaves, turned brilliant colors before she let go at the age of 73. She had been a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and aunt. Her many callings included librarian, chaplain, teacher, writer, leader, and spiritual director. So many seeds being borne on the wind.
A few days after her passing, at a contemplative meditation group she founded, we all remembered her, spoke of what she had meant to each of us. The words “humble” and “listened” were breathed out again and again. Not only had she started this gathering, she had been partly responsible for the spare, peaceful round meeting house in which we met. We spoke in the Quaker manner, led by a deep intuitive nudging, no advance preparation.
Most of us in that circle are creased and graying, in the autumn of our own lives. As we talked, we shed tears; we laughed; we mused and told stories; we felt her with us. And just outside, through the room’s many windows, we could see the earth shine forth in sweet and glorious abundance.
