This autumn I feel a huge and welcome change. My children’s lives, and my own, are no longer dominated by the rhythm of the education system. For the first time in a very long time, I realise that I’m not measuring time by the school term, counting down to the next half term or holiday to make space in my life for the natural world. Instead, I’m able to shift my attention to the everyday beauty that’s been quietly waiting for me all along.
I’m noticing so much more. The way the light filters through the trees differently as the sun dips lower in the sky. The way the air feels cooler, but still carries the lingering warmth of summer on certain days. The colours of the landscape have deepened, with richer, warmer tones appearing where green once dominated.
The subtle scent of damp earth and fallen leaves rising after rain, glimpses of delicate spider webs, glistening with dew. Fungi of all shapes and sizes are popping up in unexpected places, and branches are heavy with berries, nuts and seeds, ready to be devoured and scattered by wildlife.
I’m starting to pay attention to the rhythms that I once overlooked: the waxing and waning of the moon, the daily change of the tides, the gradual shift in the constellations overhead. There’s something magical about watching clouds swell and shapeshift, feeling the wind pick up before a storm, or the stillness that settles over fog shrouded land.
In these moments, I’m trying to ask myself: Where do I fit in? How do I belong to these natural cycles, and how do they shape me?
For now, I’m content with simply noticing, slowing down, and letting nature guide me as I find my own rhythm in this beautiful, surprising and ever changing world.