Fall is nearly here. The official first day is September 29 — at least that’s the date I found online, along with pictures of fall leaves and pumpkin spiced candles.
And today I’m going on a day trip to check out places where we might view the fall leaves in a month or so for a group tour. Leaves here are still green and clinging to the trees. It will be a while before they turn color.
And two days ago I made a pumpkin dessert because I was in the mood for such fall deliciousness. Friends who enjoyed the dessert commented, “It’s that time of year.”
Yes, indeed it is.
When I was a kid I always liked fall, because it meant going back to school — to a new grade and new teachers and new books and new pencils and new notebooks and new school clothes and the restart of piano lessons after the summer hiatus.
As an adult, fall restores my energy and enthusiasm. I feel like starting over or beginning something new and challenging. I have an urge to get organized and to make a plan to move forward. When I was young such plans and projects were just part of starting a new school year — and the need has stuck with me for life.
I’m thinking I’ll go to a place that sells schools supplies — to get some tools for such planning and organization. New paper and notebooks and pencils prod my creativity way more than supplies I already have on hand. There’s really nothing wrong with the paper and pens in my office but they are of a previous time, an old project, and an earlier life.
Today is new. This season is new.
Like the trees that lose their leaves, I need to clean out the old stuff — let it die of it’s own cause. Their season is over. Nothing can be gained by holding on to what once was, and what cannot be transformed to the newness required of today.
Fall feels quiet, after a busy summer of travel. Time to let things play out. Time to stop working so hard to make things happen.
I’m not a botanist so I don’t claim to understand what happens to the trees, allowing the leaves to change color, then fall and die. But I’m thinking it’s the beginning of the process that enables them to grow new leaves in the spring. This fallow time creates new growth later.
We don’t often think of fall as fallow time. We generally anticipate and experience it as the busiest time of the year, full of holidays and events. The harriedness seems to arrive earlier every year. We promise ourselves we’ll keep the holidays simple this year but we seem powerless to pull it off. But maybe it’s because we took no fallow time at fall’s beginning, when it called us to notice the seasonal change, when it called us to slow down, when it called us to show our rich personal colors.
I hoping for you some fallow time this fall.
Until next Tuesday . . .