My husband, Chris, and I were eating Saturday breakfast on the back porch, and

out of the corner of my eye, I saw a yellow leaf fall slowly to the ground.

“It’s starting — autumn is here!”

It was, in fact, still summer, but our long, sunny days were slowly coming to an end,

and everything would soon shift to cooler weather and shorter days.

With autumn’s arrival came the last harvest from our garden.

Cucumber vines ceased their reaching and crawling, turning yellow amid the weeds.

Tomato vines shriveled, no longer producing any fruit.

Nearly all the summer flowers dried in their place and went to seed.

And the trees turned yellow, orange, and red, releasing their leaves one by one to the ground below.

I used to think of autumn as the end. The end of all things bright and colorful.

The end of all things active and growing. The end of a lifecycle.

The end.

And yet, this season, with its colder weather and shorter days, really is a beginning in so many ways.

The beginning of something new. The beginning of a slow nurture, the deepening of roots, preparation, rest, and renewal.

The beginning.

In the weeks to come, the seeds that have been released will find a home in the ground, where their new life begins. A life of their own.

Underground, in the dark, beneath layers of insulated dirt and snow, winter will nurture these seeds, preparing them for the moment when spring arrives and they’ll reach up towards the sun.

Trees will shed each last leaf in an effort to conserve energy and water for the winter months ahead, providing protection from the harsh weather, so they can thrive again when warmer days arrive.

Even the ground welcomes autumn as an opportunity to heal and lay a new foundation for next year’s growth. As leaves fall and decompose, they’ll nourish the soil with essential nutrients and bring restoration to the earth.

Autumn is a necessary season of preparation and reset. 

Autumn initiates the deep rest and hibernation that’s so essential for full renewal. Without this long pause, without this period of slowing down, plants, trees, and animals wouldn’t be able to enter spring with the strength and vitality to flourish.

What if we looked at autumn as the beginning of a new year in our own lives?

What if we saw this season not as an ending, but as the threshold into something new

— an invitation to reset, reflect, and restore?

What if we joined the natural world around us and made a point to slow down and press pause?

Perhaps in this place of gentle stillness, we’d have the capacity to reflect — not only on what we’ve already accomplished and harvested in our lives this year, but also on what we hope to cultivate and grow in the months ahead.

Maybe in this space of darkness, with less pulling for our attention, we’d find time to nurture our dreams and ideas, create new patterns, and deepen our roots, values, and faith.

And by letting go, perhaps we’d discover a new sense of restoration and be able to conserve energy for what really matters in our lives, moving forward with creativity and joy.

If we quiet our pace and press pause, maybe we’d uncover the strength to steadily step toward what’s next with a newfound hope and peace.

*****