Nature's Wisdom Fall, 2006 Vol. 5 Issue 3
by Sarah Anne Edwards
"If we don't change things to keep up with our situation we will be in a bad situation." Bo BiceLessons of Fall
Letting Go, Letting Go, Letting Go, in a World of Yellow & Green
This has been both a beautiful and a difficult Fall. Difficult because I am still learning nature's Fall lessons of letting go.
Having agreed to write a book we'd hoped to write several years ago, I began the year by realizing that I would need to let go of the dreams I'd had for expanding my counseling after earning my PhD in ecopsychologist last winter, at least for now. As the months passed and writing this book became more of a challenge than I anticipated, still more letting go was to follow.
Last Spring I had to let go of my expectations that this website, which I'd worked hard to create over the part three years, was going to function properly. In changing ISP's what once worked flawlessly has become pretty much of a mess, with dozens of broken links, missing photos, strangulated url's and lost pages. That's how it has been and will be for now. There is no time to fix it.
As Fall approached and I grew further behind on the book project, I realized I had to let go of many of the projects I'd helped to get start in our community. Some went on without me. Others have drifted into early hibernation. I had to let go of taking any new counseling clients. Had to cancel half our Sunday morning discussions. Stop corresponding online with many dear friends. Miss two reunions I hoped to attend.
And then most recently, let go of my cherished weekend walks in the forest with our friends and all our dogs. Finally, I let go of doing this Fall newsletter in the fashion I'd planned. It is quite short, quite simple.
So I was feeling pretty sad this Fall. Sad, that is, until I took a moment to look, really look, out the windows of my office. There beyond the walls of our home was a world of brilliant yellow and green in the process of flamboyantly letting go of all it's lushness and splendor.
Our yard had become a field of yellow. The Poplars were undressing before my eyes. Naked limbs baring themselves among their cousins, some of whom were still a shimmering green, others a dancing yellow or blazing red.
The wind was carrying away their clothes, tossing them wildly in the air, scattering them, skittering and skipping across the streets. Leaving them abandoned on the forest floor, atop layers of fallen pine needles already brown with the advent of the season, and beneath giant pine cones that are falling, falling, falling from far above.
Yet these supple trees, seem not the lest bit dismayed by all this letting go, their lacey white fingers reaching proudly into the misty sky. Nor do the pines seem bothered at all as the winds comb through their branches and free them of needless needles.All this, which was once filled our forest skyline, now lies on the ground, fading, drying to drab, trusting without reflection their readiness to embrace Fall's unfolding cycle, waiting quietly and still now to feed the mother from which they were born, the mother who feeds all that is our forest.
So, I have to wonder about myself, about us humans. What is it that causes us to hold on, to cling, to grieve when there is nothing more to do but to let go? To forget how much remains, how much we needed ever let go of? What of the love, the friends, the sights and sounds of each day that never go away, but only change?How might we sigh the sigh of peace that comes with accepting there is a time for holding on and a time for letting go? That what remains, the naked fingers of our soul that we cleave to even in the cold darkness of winter, is not only enough, but plenty? That the very life that feeds us is sustained by what we let go of?
Not difficult lessons really; we simply need to look around. They are there, wordless, and nameless lessons, before us in a world of yellow and green.
Fall Blessings,
Sarah
