It is a season.
What is my favorite part of fall?
I’ve really been thinking about this question the last two days. Do I even have a favorite part? Do I like fall? Which season is my favorite? Why? Is one season really any different from the other, other than the obvious change in weather?
And there’s where I stop thinking about my favorite part of fall.
Isn’t that what happens from one season to the next? The weather pattern changes, our environment changes as a result, and different holiday celebrations seem to go along with those seasonal changes.
Change is constant.
And yet so many of us are held captive by our fear of change.
Am I afraid to change or am I free to change?
Fall is the season where we watch nature seem to shrivel up and die.
Sure, it looks pretty in the process. The leaves turn beautiful colors before they fall off the trees. The grass stops growing and we stop mowing. Tree limbs become artistic lines across the horizon. Flowers and plants get cut back until spring.
Fall is almost like a time of pruning. We harvest our fruits, shed our dead weight, and prepare for a season of hibernation to survive a season where food will be scarce.
I don’t know about you, but I need a fall. There seems to be some fruit, some leaves, and some general moss hanging on to my body that either needs to be harvested, shed, or cut away.
Some of the things I need to let go of are good. They are beautiful now. However, if I keep holding on to them, the fruit will rot, and be useless. The time to harvest the fruit is when it’s ripe.
Some of the things I’m holding on to have lived their season. As I accept that it’s time to let them go, they will turn brilliant colors and tempt me to hold on to them for just a little while longer. I can’t, though, and maintain my health, for they are now dead leaves, ready to scatter in the wind.
Then there are those things that have attached themselves to me, without my invitation, that I need someone else to come along and prune from me. They are robbing my time, energy, and most importantly, my joy. They need to be cut off.
It’s my choice. I can be afraid of change or I can be free to change. Regardless of my choice, change, like the seasons, is inevitable.
photo credit: shankargalleryhttp://www.flickr.com/photos/shankargallery/2979031004/">shankargallery
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