Seasons come and go like people, like narratives of life. But seasons always come back. They come back with the same beginning promises and metaphors. They come back paralleling our own nature.
As September winds arrive, we see that autumn has returned. Autumn has returned for us. Autumn is for transition, colorful stories, and characters as the leaves turn before they fall to the ground. We wear our flannels and sip our ciders. We walk the streets feeling the crisp air hovering around us, heightening our senses, keeping us aware of the outside world.
We breathe in nights that smell like burning firewood and chase days when the sun hangs high. Apple orchards and pumpkin patches bustle with crowds. Autumn sweets and spices play on our tongues.
Rainy afternoons reap in books; for pleasurable escape; for studying. We wear layers and cover our bodies in blankets as the sun dips below the horizon earlier than the day prior. We embrace reminders that autumn is here, again, and will stay for at least a little while longer.
We want to embody each season.
And I suppose that makes sense. We need to become autumn in order to understand what it’s trying to tell us. And once we see it through, it will be back for us. Our faithful constant. Because you see, the seasons always come back with wisdom to impart.