AUTUMN by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,

The nuts are getting brown;

The berry’s cheek is plumper,

The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,

The field a scarlet gown.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,

I’ll put a trinket on.

“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.” ~ Etty Hillesum

“The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it.” ~ Sydney Harris

Upstate New York knows how to do autumn justice. We don’t have a choice. You either give in to the season at hand or get bowled over by the gourds and cinnamon scents and pumpkin spice everything. I find it easier to go with the flow and embrace the chilly season at hand, indulging in the cozy traditions that you enjoy the most. It’s also the indisputable lead-in to the holiday season, another thing some people have an issue with this early in the game. Usually I’m with them – extending or elongating the holiday season too far dilutes what makes it so special and memorable. This year, I’m gradually shifting into it earlier than usual, because we need it now. 

Here is some music to set the autumnal scene, one of the few things good about YouTube these days, and backed by some favorite characters best known for their holiday antics.  

An abundance of super-saturated color informs this recap, as I’m feeling the lull of a bleak November begin to creep into the blue skies we’ve been fortunate enough to have of late. An overcast day is somehow more depressing than one raging with storms or weighted with humidity and heat. As it is, we’ve had a lovely stretch of fine fall weather with sunny bright days and blue skies, maybe to make up for such an awful summer. On with the recap before the gray days return….

A downtempo Downtown. 

Cheery cyclamen. 

Take on me, but in a slow fashion.

Wearing a rusty cape for fall. 

The Tiny Telephone Sessions.

Drawn to the forest.

Fuchsia foliage.

The old-fashioned style of streaming.

Friday geometry.

The candle being.

Oh Kalanchoe.

Day-glo naked pics on a day of worship. 

Rose indulgence.

Dazzlers of the Day included Subrina Dhammi and Lisa S. Lee.

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it” ~ Edith Wharton

Darkness comes earlier and earlier as we roll toward the winter solstice (which occurs next month, by the way) and once the time change happens this weekend, it will be dark even sooner. The time for coziness and hygge is at hand. This year I’m doing my best to make it all about the light – and that begins with a single candle.

Candles are my companions in our little attic loft space, and they are the main components of the transition to the coming winter. With the air conditioner out of the window, the room is brighter, and with the multitude of votives, there are little lights and little sources of warmth scattered throughout. 

In one of the first winters I spent at the Boston condo, I discovered the power of candlelight, and candle warmth. The bedroom was always on the cooler side of things – the base-board heaters warmed the front room more than they did the back, and while I prefer a cool room for sleeping, some nights it got a little too cool, made worse by the bay window that drew in the drafts. On a whim, I bought a bulk pack of tea lights and lit about twenty of them in the bedroom. Entranced by the light, I was also pleasantly surprised by how much heat they gave off, as if a little fireplace had been lit in front of the bay window. Since then, I’ve remembered the power of that candlelight. 

A maple leaf in a cocktail glass seems like a fitting afternoon post for a Friday. It feels like fall. Looks like it too. We magically gain an hour of time this weekend, and rather than wondering how to save or spend it, I’m going to work on fully inhabiting it, on being present and completely mindful. To be fully present for an hour is a monumental achievement – mostly because if you can master it for an hour, you can master it for a lifetime. But it doesn’t happen easily or without work. It takes many days of practice and effort to be so mindful, and it’s a practice that doesn’t have an end or finish line. That used to bother me – I once did much better with a definitive goal in a finite period of time. Now I embrace the uncertainty, taking each moment as it comes, and counting only each moment as it arrives. No more is guaranteed. No more is promised. 

Inspired by the water-like imagery induced by this music, this glimpse of a stream provides a visual framework for this Friday morning post. Musically, scroll down a bit to find something by Karel Barnoski from his ‘Tiny Telephone Sessions’. The first weekend of November is already at hand. Not quite ready for it, I’m in the process of re-introducing meditation into the daily routine, and I need it more than ever. Up to about 15 minutes every other day, I find it easier to slip into the focused slow breathing, and that sacred space of peace and stillness. It’s just enough to take the edge off of the day. 

For a sleepy Friday morning, before we set the clocks back, this extra pocket of time provides another moment to pause and regroup. Sitting on a bank beside a stream is an apt metaphor, as the water flows by, but the stones and the trees remain stoic and still. Grounded by the earth, the motion of the stream would not matter were it not for the bed beneath it and the banks beside it. 

As a companion post for this other fuchsia-shaded entry, this time it’s the ornamental kale that gives us such color and cheer. More was said in that post than can be seen here, and I’ll cut this short so you can visit that link. 

When things get turned upside down, I often find it best to regroup in the woods, and reconnect with nature in a way that brings me back to my childhood, when I’d find escape and safety within the folds of a forest. As a kid, on those days when my anxiety got the best of me, it was the place I went after the stresses of school. If I was raw and tender from the familiar worry and over-analysis running through my head, I could step into the backyard and slip away into the woods. 

Growing older, I sought out nature when living in Boston. On those tough nights when I was lonelier than I ever admitted, I would venture out to the harbor to seek the sea. Even in the winter when the flagpoles were clanging in the wind like church bells, there was solace by the water. Other nights, nearer to spring, I would find my way home while skirting the Boston Public Garden, drawn by the shadows of trees, lured by the fragrance of unseen flowers. In the middle of the city, nature found a way, and I would find a way to nature. 

These days I’m looking to go back, in any way possible.