This is the intro to the newsletter I write for the Narrow Gauge Book Coop. I wanted to share it here, too.
Most of the apples have already fallen.
The sunflowers turn into dusty spiked balls.
But what if my land is the land of the living?
The bird from the dust takes flight
Then turns multiple—
A handful of birds rising in the dead sky
Opened to receive them.
But my loves for now are here and living, and I want more of them.
Like the bird on the ground I pick what I need from the dust.
– Lindsay Turner, from “Halloween”
The fall equinox, when the day and the night are of equal length, just passed. Much needed rain is falling outside my window as I write this note, as I reflect on what I want to say to you in these early days of fall.
Autumn is my season, though it always feels too brief. I spend the heat of the summer yearning for sweater weather. I resist iced coffee for most of the season and spend each hot afternoon wishing for a chill in the air. I delight in green leaves and sunflowers and rosehips after the blooms on the wild roses along the road near my home have fallen away, but something in my soul thrills at the first flash of yellow among the cottonwoods and aspens.
As the rain falls outside my window, I happily pull my blankets out of storage, and savor the weight of my cat in my lap, as it is cool enough now for her to enjoy the warmth of blankets and my company while I read a book or write.
I look forward to longer nights, though I know the shorter days can take their toll – I do know that we need the sunlight.
I have always been drawn to the melancholy, always reveled in nostalgia and immersed myself in heartbreak. Called an “old soul” from a young age, it is no surprise that I was drawn to the grim, the mysterious, the dark.
Autumn is my season, as the leaves change color and fall from the trees, as the earth becomes damp and thick with rot, as visible life withdraws to rest and leaves us with skeletal trees and darkness.
There is so much hope in this withdrawal, in this season of rest and change and transformation. So much life happens where we cannot see it – beneath the leaf litter, caterpillars cocoon and wait to become moths and butterflies.
So much life happens in the pause.
So much life happens in the dark.
Happy autumn – may this season bring rest. May this season bring plenty.
