I’m all for a good seasonal recap, so here we go: The sound of winter is silence. The sound of spring is pause. The sound of summer is people. And the rustle of fall—the sound I’m currently embracing—is the purge. Gosh, I really need to rethink winter. The alliteration situation alone could keep me up at night. Anyway. Fall.
In Florida, fall meant hurricane season. Rain, the hope of less humidity, and keeping an eye on whatever storm was forming next. We had fall decorations and fall drinks and a collective willingness to pretend it was sweater weather. I participated wholeheartedly. I have always joked that I dress like I’m living in a never-ending fall moment. My wardrobe has been preparing for this move longer than I have.
But this year, in the Valley, I actually get to live it. The temperature has changed. The leaves have become colors I used to admire in pictures. Harvest is underway, and the cornfields are being cleared. Places that looked full just weeks ago are opening up, and I can see farther across them now.
And you can hear the whole thing happening. Leaves catching the wind. Leaves scraping across the ground. Leaves being gathered into piles, only for a breeze to come through and offer a different arrangement. Leaves, leaves, beautiful old leaves. It’s a sound I’m still getting used to, and I find myself stopping to listen.
What follows is bare trees. And I have to say, I love a good purge. Any millennial navigating perimenopause will tell you: LET US THROW THINGS AWAY. There is a particular joy in realizing something can go. The bag finally leaving the house. The drawer that closes again. The space you didn’t know you needed until you could see it.
So maybe it makes sense that I find the sound of falling leaves relaxing. Every rustle seems to whisper, “Hey, you. Rest is close.” Gratitude and the holidays are coming. The year is making its way toward an ending, and I want to make room to enjoy it. There are still things to do, of course, but watching the trees empty has me thinking about how much I’m carrying into the next season.
Some of it was beautiful. That’s the part I keep coming back to. These leaves were alive and green. They provided shade all summer, then became the very thing I couldn’t stop looking at this fall. And now they’re on the ground, getting raked up and carried away. I can appreciate what they were and understand why they have to go.
I’m finding that harder to do with certain things in my own life. I can hold on to a commitment because I once loved it, or keep making room for something because it mattered to me in a previous season. It’s easier to let go when something is clearly broken. It takes a little more honesty to admit that something good has simply come to an end.
So here I am, reflecting. What needs to go? What have I enjoyed, learned from, and outgrown? What am I still tending to out of habit when I’m already tired? I don’t need to answer all of it on one walk through the neighborhood, but I do want to pay attention to what comes to mind.
There are actual closets involved in this reflection, too. Let’s be clear. Some things are getting donated. Some things are getting thrown away. And somewhere between sorting through a drawer and watching another pile of leaves blow across the yard, I’m finding a little room to breathe.
I want to enter winter with less to manage. I want my roots to rest. I want to trust God with whatever He’ll grow next without feeling responsible for keeping every part of the last season alive. For now, there is enough to do in recognizing what’s finished and letting myself release it with gratitude.
I have loved the idea of fall for years. This year, I get the cool air, the changing trees, the sound of leaves beneath my feet—and a reason to wear the clothes I was apparently buying in faith all along. Fall has lived up to the hype so far, and I’m here for it.
If you need me, I’ll be admiring the leaves and filling a donation bag. Apparently, this is my season.