The First Signs of Change
Ever so little, bit by bit, if you look closely you’ll see the leaves beginning to change. The elms are taking on a tawny yellow, and here and there a touch of red spreads across the forest. Over the weekend, we went down to the river where the first sycamore leaves dotted the slowly swirling waters and began to line the rocks along the shore.
Sycamores—always the first to let go.
The sycamores are always the first to drop their leaves. They’re always in a hurry—it seems they can’t help themselves. In spring, they bud out too early, often finding a late frost and having to start all over again.
Resist the Rush
Sometimes I too am overly eager. A few leaves fall, and suddenly I’m ready to rush into autumn! But truthfully, there are still several weeks of summer left—both on the calendar and in the weather forecast.
Enjoy the endings too.
Today’s beautiful temperatures belie the warm days that are sure to return next week. I could chop down the flowers, put the garden to bed, and pull out the sweaters, pumpkins, and plaid blankets. But if I rush ahead, I’ll miss the sweetness of the dahlias and chrysanthemums and every other pleasure that makes up this season’s end. And if that isn't bad enough, when the thermometer hits 90 again, I’ll find myself grumpily demanding October weather in September.
I love autumn, and I’ll enjoy it when it comes. But autumn is not now.
Living in the Season: What's That Mean?
“Be present. Live in the now.” We hear this a lot. But living in the now doesn’t mean forgetting the past or ignoring the future. Our present is shaped by what has come before, and it shapes what’s ahead.
Living in the season, then, is a dance—a weaving of past and future with today.
Lessons from the Garden: Rooted in the Past, Acting in the Present, and Working Toward the Future
One reason gardening feels so grounding to me is that it requires that I dance this dance. To garden well, I have to look back. I have to look forward. And all the while I must faithfully attend to today.
Take time to ponder, and to plan.
As I notice the first leaves changing and watch how the afternoon light puddles differently on the carpet each day, I remember late summers of the past. I also think ahead to next spring. And I know that if I want beautiful flowers next April, I can’t just remember last year’s blooms—or simply wish for next year’s. I have to plant seeds now.
I suppose that God could have created us independent of time, or shown us how to bend it to our will. Instead He placed us here, fully inhabiting this time and this place, with no way around the passing of days, months, seasons.
There is no way to separate ourselves from our past or to cut ourselves off from the future.
And so I match my actions to the past and to the future. Past experience tells me that now is the right time to sow. Future hope reminds me that my work will yield blossoms in spring. So now, as I tuck seeds into the soil, I enjoy the cicada song and the sun on my toes. Tonight I will go out on the porch and enjoy the fireflies that flicker for just a few more weeks.
A Gentle Reminder
The changing leaves whisper the same truth: live in the season you’re in without forgetting the past or jumping ahead. Autumn will come. Then winter. Spring will follow. But today is still summer, with its own beauty worth savoring and its own jobs to be done.
Look back. Look ahead. Now dance in the today. ~amanda