By Jessy Wallach, TIWP Student

Autumn is a time of transition. It basks in the last warmth of Summer while bracing for Winter’s chill. It is a golden period full of afternoon light; a gentle reminder that night is nearing — wrap up your last few tasks, set aside for tomorrow your great ambitions, for soon the day will fade into the darkness of evening, and then night. Time is fleeting. Like sand, the tighter you grasp onto it, the faster it slips away. Only by approaching it slantwise, through long walks in the redwoods or late nights listening to music, does it linger. When you realize you have lost track of time, it has already returned. For Autumn is not just afternoon light; it is also the shadow the light casts; easy to notice, impossible to hold.

In Autumn, we move closer to the spirit world. There is Dia de Los Muertos and All Souls Day, Halloween and Thanksgiving, and the Jewish High Holidays. While others attend services or construct ofrendas, I build an altar to myself out of slow, sleepy mornings, small comforts, and gentle words. There is a spirit within me full of endless fortitude and self-compassion. To protect itself from the harsh climate of our world, it hibernates so deep inside me that I forget it is there until in Autumn, when something swings back into place and my outer and inner spirits reunite. My inner spirit greets me kindly, and observes all the scrapes and bruises of the last year. Every year, I return more bruised and fatigued than the last. The final flush of my childhood is wearing away, each season placing it further in my past. My inner spirit cannot temper the mourning I feel for this younger, more endurant self. It does not try. It says: sit down. Breathe. Taste cool air. Drink clean water. Rest. Winter brings scabs and calluses, Spring and Summer scraped knees and picked-away mosquito bites. In Autumn, I watch new, pink skin knit over my wounds. I treat myself gently, with band-aids and soft blankets, cleanse myself with soap and hot water. I do not push myself too hard; this is a time for healing. When I say Autumn is tender, I mean it not like a hug or a caring word, but like a fresh bruise arrayed in vibrant purples, reds, and greens.