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  • shayngrant

The Sweetness of Autumn

There is always one day when the shift happens and the air takes on a different smell. It occurs sometime around the Autumn Equinox, after the elderberries have shrivelled on their branches.

I will try to describe it. The smell of hot earth, of hay and flower - this is summer. And then the damp, crispness arrives overnight. The smell of ripe and rotting apples. Mulch and mushroom. And with it, woodsmoke of a hearth fire.

I always feel a very distinct and clear shift in direction. All of my tendrils that had previously been reaching outwards to sunlight and new connections begin to draw their energy back to my stem. I have a strong urge to return to my own home and reacquaint myself with my space. I quietly potter and cook and work. My slippers come out of their summer storage. I pour many many cups of spiced tea.

For all of Summer’s vibrance, she can be incessant in her demands. However, there is always a small but present grief alongside the relief of entering a softer season. We are in a sweet transition, where we can still feel where Summer left her impassioned kisses, and yet, we still have to let her go. The days still seem to remember their dance with the high Sun and the light is still as golden as the apples that have ripened and the cider to be made with them (as the fermentation of our harvests is an essential part of their preservation). There is still something deeply beautiful here, if we let ourselves feel it.

The grief and the relief. The hearth and home. Structure, routine, rest. Can you lean into the slower pace, the urge to draw inwards? Your desire to nest and create comfort is an ancient one. It is time to direct energy back to the roots as the wind brings the chill closer.

As the darkness overtakes the light, we are faced with the mystery of Winter, and his sometimes brutal lessons. What will last through the frost? What has deep enough roots to survive? How will we lend each other warmth?

It is time to gather. Gather all the nourishment you can from the last of the harvests, the last of the golden light, the last of the late ripening fruit, the last of loves newly made. And hold on to it as close as you can.

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