Seasonal Shift

I move my morning basket from beside the wing chair in the living room where I have watched the sky in all her splendour declare the glory every morning, to the den. Now, and through the dark months ahead, I’ll greet the day there, on the leather sofa under a Sherpa blanket. Cozy. In solitude and silence.

As coffee brews and soy milk warms in the kitchen, I lift from the basket my Bible, journal, earbuds, and a selection of other books that are my companions in this season and make a nest for myself on the sofa. Then, mug of soy milky frothy coffee in hand, I settle in to read wisdom and pray.

It is Friday. Conversations and encounters from the week that is coming to a close linger. There was something about an interaction between two people I watched from afar one afternoon that I made note of. I intended to chew on it later but whatever it was that captured my attention seems to have slipped from my memory.

This week I’ve been blessed by friends who have asked: “How’r you doing?”. And then listened to my answer. Good conversation. Rumination. A seasonal shift.

Sooner or later we must distinguish between what we are not and what we are. We must accept the fact that we are not what we would like to be.

I’m thinking about the effort we put into image and how we learn to wear a façade so well that, eventually, we even fool ourselves into believing something that may not be entirely factual. And how in silence and solitude we cut to the chase.

We must cast off our false, exterior self like the cheap and showy garment that it is.

In this season I intend to read more long form work and ponder truth. I will work at contributing more than consuming. I will shut out the noise and choose, more intentionally, what I allow to shape me.

We must find our real self, in all its elemental poverty, but also in its great and very simple dignity: created to be the child of God, and capable of loving with something of God’s own sincerity and his unselfishness.

I will practice loving well in the manner I was created to do so—which will probably look different than how you do it.  I will be quieter, sometimes speakIng louder without saying a word.

The season shifts and fall feels more and more like a much-needed rest. There’s something spoken in the whisper of leaves letting go. Can you hear it too?

(The quotes in this post are all from Thomas Merton


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. I am putting on the garment of solitude as I read about you settling into your cozy nest. But I’m green with envy at your display of orange and gold. Orange you lucky!

    1. “A garment of solitude”. What a peaceful picture, Marian. And “orange you lucky”! Autumn colour is nothing short of spectacular, much like your play on words!

  2. Linda, thank you for this wonderful image of the cozy nesting we do as fall brings the trees and flowers to a resting season. I especially appreciated your use of Thomas Merton’s words. They bring such comfort and wisdom. I’ll ponder this post a second and maybe third time over the next few days. Blessings!

    1. Somehow, it seems we need this season of rest more than ever. While, in many ways, we have not been as busy this year the weariness from all that 2020 has brought feels bone wearying at times. Wishing you peace in the season, Sherrey.

  3. Such wisdom in the words of Thomas Merton, and thank-you for choosing them and bringing them to us – the third one especially speaks to me of simplicity and letting go. Changing one’s space and nestling into cosiness to begin the day at this time of year is such a gentle blessing; and I will ponder the whispering of ‘letting go’ as I watch the leaves drift …

    1. We can all use a heightened awareness of simple, gentle blessings—now, more than ever perhaps. Perhaps it’s a gift that fall, and the picture of letting go, can offer us. Wishing you much peace as you ponder the whisper.

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