Maybe it’s not so bad…

After all my complaining, maybe I’m starting to come around to Autumn. I think it came before I was ready. I was still enjoying the warm, the flowers, the life of the summer, and I wasn’t ready for it to end, but I’m starting to accept it’s inevitability.

I saw someone share a photo of a conker, saying that they always made her emotional as they reminded her of the birth of her son. Both my children are spring babies, and her comment reminded me of my love for the new, spring leaves that appeared on our lime tree in the days before my son’s birth.

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As he was planned to be born at home, I was a little conscious of all the bare branches leaving us exposed to the neighbouring houses. In the days before, the branches seemed to explode with the most glorious, luminous, pale leaves, surrounding us with this glowing, green bubble of new life that was the perfect cocoon for our new life to emerge from. It felt incredibly important at the time, and now I cannot think of those new leaves without welling up a little.

Well, I guess that in order to experience that glowing,luminous, new life, we need this bit too…

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I am feeling more resigned and welcoming of the cycle of things. I may not be revelling in a garden covered in dead leaves (though they will be turned into some mighty fine leafmold), but I guess I’m glad it’s part of the process. Im glad that we live somewhere where the seasons change and transition, where we see our world change around us, where we are constantly faced by new experiences and wonders, and where the new leaves of spring can still amaze us.

And in the meantime, I can dream of the bulbs I have planted getting ready to realise their beautiful flowers at the very first hint of the new year’s warmth. I can try to imagine how our very young garden will grow and evolve in its next summer. Plan the vegetables I will attempt to grow and reminisce over the freshness of home picked summer berries.

I read once that we need celebrations and festivals, birthdays and Christmases, to hang our memories onto, as marking stones in our life so that we can orientate ourselves within the passage of time. That without these it becomes hard to really know our past and how we fit into the world. I guess the seasons are a big part of this orientation. I don’t know if I can go so far as to love Autumn, but I might stop moaning about it so much, it’s not all bad!

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