by Arielle Bertolone
I love summer. I love the feeling of the sun warming my skin. Long summer days by beautiful Oregon rivers, gathering with friends to share the summer’s bounty. As summer wanes and the days grow shorter and the mornings hold a whisper of autumn in the chilled air, a pit of loss always develops deep in my belly. I am a true Oregon baby. I hold the light, the warmth, the splendor of this state drenched in the sunshine dear.
My practice of self-inquiry and reflection has assisted me in navigating these transitions with presence, and at my best times, grace. Autumn holds space for reflection. For folding back in to our sacred routines. The cooler weather encourages me to clear things out, both figuratively and literally. I pause and surrender to the ancient rhythm of the seasons. The natural ebb and flow that guides our biology.
Autumn holds an energy for those practical tasks that prepare one, and their household for the shift into the darkness and scarcity of winter. I relish simplifying and cleaning out the corners of my house which will shift from a place we stop through on our way to more summer activities, back to the hub of family life. A sanctuary from the cold, and a gathering place for friends and family. It is a time to prepare foods that are warm and nourishing.
As I have embraced the practical shifts the season holds, I also embrace the lull between the seasons as a time for self-study. That moment before the energy of fall kicks in, where I am softer and slower. I honor my moment of mourning the loss of summer. There was a time I would dwell in that loss, but my practice has shown me it is a time to make space for the new energy that I trust will flow my way.