Almost Autumn

It is almost autumn. The window grows misty with breath, and beyond the glass the trees wear their final robes—golden, amber, crimson. They stand as if painted by fire, dressed for a farewell that is both tender and inevitable.

One by one, the leaves loosen their grip. They spin down slowly, like fragments of forgotten memories, surrendering to the earth that once cradled them. When the leaves fall, the birds too begin their quiet departures. Some linger a while, as if reluctant to say goodbye. Some return now and then, fleeting shadows across the bare branches. But most are carried onward by their own callings, by the gravity of distant skies.

And still, the trees remain. They do not reach for what is leaving. They do not beg the birds to stay or the leaves to return. They simply stand—silent, stripped, unwavering—keeping faith with emptiness. They have enough trust in autumn. Their arms, emptied of adornment, are lifted not in despair but in trust.

For autumn is a phoenix. It does not fade politely into winter—it burns. It burns inside until the branches can no longer hold their burden. It burns until every leaf turns to flame, until surrender is the only option left. And in that blaze, there is both grief and renewal. A necessary burning, a holy letting go.

I then look at the cyclical nature of my soul—it too glows golden, amber, crimson. It has carried fire long enough, fire kindled from the weight and wonder of a life lived. It has burned, it has fought, it has trusted in seasons even when the nights stretched long and merciless. Now it flickers like a weary flame, softening into surrender. It longs to shed its tired wings, to fall into stillness, to be buried in the quiet soil of becoming.

And in that surrender, there is a secret. The soul, like the tree, like the phoenix, learns that nothing is ever truly lost. What departs only changes its shape. What falls only prepares the way for what will rise. Emptiness is not the end—it is the chamber where trust is born, where silence ripens into song, where tomorrow waits with new colors and new birds eventually come.