It is said that we can learn much from nature. I’ve found this to be particularly true of this year’s season of autumn. I’ve taken the opportunity for more walks and biking adventures and have better noted the etchings on leaves. The vibrant colors of reds and golds, now deepening into rich burgundies, the color of a fine Cabernet Sauvignon, and the spicy brown of Apple Brown Betty. As Sarah Addison described autumn in First Frost, “It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.”

Nature gives us courage. She gives us the courage to ask questions. She brings us comfort on our journey and beckons us to stay. She shows us how one stage flows efffortlessly into the next. An endless cycle of surprises and magic.

Along the Whistle Stop Trail from Wilton to Farmington, I note the now nearly naked limbs, casting their tattered, skeleton-like shadows upon the ground. Along with the branches of evergreens, now with sparser-needled branches, they are sentry to the magic in the tree’s roots. Above ground, they know as they cast their scented needles to the wind, along with cascading leaves, they are making way for the next cycle to begin. It has already begun.

I can now faintly smell the smoky richness of wood fires burning in carefully tended hearths. Winter cannot be far off, and yet, I want to still take in the crisp scent of the pines, and the sensual mustiness of curling leaves that remind me of the yellowing, stained pages in an old book.

Autumn is a time for mulled wines and literature by the fire. A time for warm cider cocktails and spicy molasses cookies. A time to know that “In every ending, the beginning is already there.” (Lillian Lake)