We went from blazing hot, full-steam summer to cool, gray fall weather overnight. Throughout all the (extremely short) summer, I’ve been feeling that I wasn’t in my usual inward mode, I have been outwardly focused. I haven’t been reflective, meditative, thoughtful – I’ve been active. We’ve pruned, planted, nurtured, watered, weeded, cleaned, cooked, entertained, flown kites, picnicked, played, visited, driven, hiked, paraded, organized. It was a season of busy-ness. And that’s what summer is all about, right? I couldn’t even be held inside my kitchen – we barbecued at every opportunity (or better yet, ate somewhere else – preferably on a patio). We made some new friends and connected with treasured friends and family.

For someone who had focused energy inward for months, it was a dramatic energetic shift. And now, suddenly, here we are and it is raining. Not a summer storm, it is gray and drizzly – something we’ve prayed for, but now that it’s here, it is sad. The party is over. The kids started school last week. For mountain-dwelling, semi-retired folks we know what this means.

It means we’ll have some spectacular blazing gold weeks and chances to watch the leaves fall. It means there will be moments of play out in nature – some blissful, crisp hikes with gorgeous autumn light. It means tucking away the summer growth, trimming back, turning over, covering up. And it means more silence, more quiet moments, more days looking out but staying in.

I’m going to fight this a bit. I can feel it. I’m going to fantasize about how I might make winter (the inevitable next thought) more like summer. But as they say, “Resistance is futile.” I will be assimilated. I will be swept along by the cosmic dance, the rhythm of the seasons. You will, too. It probably won’t happen without some grief and a bit of a fight.

Perhaps instead of protest, instead of throwing a collective hissy fit, we could try to turn the seasonal gods on their heads like Olympic wrestlers. Our surprise move could be to savor the process instead of fighting, and to observe each magnificent moment. Take every raindrop as a gift, each opportunity to warm up by the fire as a treasured relief.
And instead of go, go, go, we can just BE in each moment. We can snuggle up in a blanket or put on a rainjacket and take a stroll through the neighborhood. We can put the barbecue away and get out the slow cooker.

Okay, I’m talking myself into it. This could (possibly) work. Let me know how you do.

P.S. Remember hot cocoa with cayenne. And hot baths.