Autumn 2024
Reflections from my online journal
We had our first snow last week. I can feel the start of winter. This led me to look back through my autumn journal. I actually keep a few seasonal journals — one in my Google docs that I have access to on my phone and computer, and written journals. After goiing through my online journal, I felt called to share excerpts with you here. Soon, I’ll start a journal for winter.
AUTUMN 2024
1.
In the quiet of early morning, I sit outside my bedroom, surrounded by willow, maple, pine and birch. If I am still enough I can feel the trees breathe with me.
I’m thinking about my years of facilitating Equinox retreats with the Wolf Conservation Center, especially the feeling of connection with Zephyr, a beloved Ambassador wolf who mirrored my own yearning for the wild. Though I was heartbroken by his enclosure, something happened to me during those visits. I felt at ease, at peace, in alignment.
And you, Zephyr, you were just being. Just being a wolf in a world that doesn't understand who you truly are.
2.
Song birds chatter and gather nearby, preparing for their southward journey.
It is September 24th and Earthly Bodies is now out in the wild. I have birthed a book.
3.
I am tired. My emotional body feels overwhelmed and exhausted by news cycles. Story after story of trauma, injustice, apathy. What if plants, fungi, and all other animals could vote? We humans make up just .01 percent of the planet’s biomass and have altered the world for all other species. One day we will be appalled at the way we treated other animals.
4.
The waning light of autumn casts long shadows. Wildflowers are going to seed.
Nearby, a sole goldenrod still blooms. Sunshine in the darkening landscape.
My heart breaks every day, and every day, there is also beauty.
5.
The butterflies have gone. The sole goldenrod still blooms. Waiting. The meadow is becoming lonelier
Do wildflowers feel lonely? Do they worry about aging? Do they know they will come back again and again and again? Do they know how beautiful they are?
6.
In the forest, witch hazel trees are starting to bloom. Delicate yellow flowers who defy the encroaching cold. They are living resilience, offering light in dark places, a balm for broken hearts. This late bloomer is appearing a little early this year. There is much to mend.
7.
The trees, those ancient guardians are watching over me again. Their roots reach deep into the earth, anchoring me to this place, this moment.
More and more, their leaves fall. Time marches on, relentless and unforgiving. I cannot get it back, those ordinary moments that once seemed insignificant. But I can freeze time, capture fleeting moments in photographs, slow down moments in words. I can write to savor the warmth of my beloved’s touch, his laughter.
I must learn to let go, to embrace the impermanence of life, to find beauty in surrender. Nothing can survive in a state of perpetual growth.
8..
Another quiet moment. I’ve been too busy. I need this.
I breathe. I listen to my body. I feel Earth beneath my feet, solid and grounding. I remember I am part of something far larger than myself. I remember that somehow, I am part of an ancient lineage that emerged from stardust and crawled from oceans. My body is Earth, my body is ocean, my body is mystery.
“To see you naked is to recall the Earth.” ~ Federico García Lorca
9.
The air is increasingly quiet. Flying birds look like falling leaves. Dead trees are homes. A forest can't live without death.
I help wooly bear caterpillars across the street. I keep my hand still enough for them to climb onto. I let them know they can trust me. I bring them to safety (I hope). Soon they will find a leaf to bed underneath and become.
What an act of becoming: Dissolving into someone new.
Thank you for sharing this. Although autumn in Hawaii isn't as distinct, the subtle queues are there. Your words so eloquently embody the ephemeral nature of autumn, it was palpable.
beautiful 💚