“It is no wonder, then, that at this peculiar time, this week (or moment) of the year, the desires which if they do not prove at least demand—perhaps remember—our destiny, come strongest. They are proper to the time of autumn, and all men feel them.”
Hilaire Belloc, The Autumn and the Fall of Leaves

I think that some men, like Belloc, act as weathervanes. They make more manifest what could be noticed without them. Yet we are grateful for the helpful pointer.

Seasons evoke specific thoughts and feelings. Surely, this is a gift, if only we receive it. When Belloc writes “and all men feel” certain desires in autumn, we find ourselves thinking: oh, yes, indeed we do.

Earlier in the essay he wrote, “Whatever permanent, uneasy question is native to men, comes forward most insistent and loud at such times”—such as at the fall of leaves. But even though it is loud and insistent, we do not necessarily hear it, or tune in to it. And more, we do not necessarily wrestle with the question, especially as it is an ‘uneasy’ one.

Add to this that there are many things in our lives today that are insistent and loud—and they are not, as the leaves are, suggesting that we turn to what matters. Thus the fall of leaves might indeed pass us by as the wipers of our car and the blowers on our street brush them aside.

Or we can stop and receive what the fall of leaves offers us: yet another occasion to ask and to wonder about the one thing that matters.

Here we might think especially of the young and the old. How are they experiencing autumn? Perhaps now in a special way they need someone—even if they don’t know it and would never say it. They need someone to observe and to feel with them; to remember with them; to look forward with them; in hope.

I dare say we can be masters of avoiding even the loud and insistent voices within us, or around us, in the trees, or in our loved ones. But we can also choose to attend. And perhaps we begin with an autumn walk—or, oh joy, perhaps even a hike. Or just sitting in the yard or woods; or looking out a window together.

Our proper response to the problems of our society and our world always begins in our home, which includes our yard, and our neighborhood. Simply enacting what is truly human has incomparable power for healing and renewal. Incomparable.

“The leaves are hardly heard, but they are heard just so much that men also, who are destined at the end to grow glorious and to die, look up and hear them falling.” Look up, and hear them falling! What an astounding thing to do. Especially together. And it is within our power.
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Two video shorts to share some simple joys of my home this season:


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