The weather is changing; temperatures are slowly dropping. Mornings are crisp, and the sky hangs low and overcast. Even the sounds of early morning have shifted into a quieter, more somber mode. The birdsong has stilled.
Just as the atmosphere has changed, so has my mindset. My thoughts have grown more serious, more hushed, more reflective. I find myself lingering on what has been—moments gone by, echoes of what used to be. Perhaps it’s a kind of preparation, a quiet gathering of memory before stepping into what’s next.
There’s a certain honesty to this season. It doesn’t pretend. It strips things bare, pares them down to essence. And in that bareness, I find clarity. I find space to listen—to the silence, to the stories I carry, to the ones still waiting to be told.
As I move through this quieter rhythm, I’m reminded that reflection is not stagnation. It’s a kind of tending. A way of honoring what has shaped me, while making room for what might yet unfold. The stories I write, the memories I hold, the connections I nurture—they all find new meaning in this season of stillness.
What does this season stir in you? I’d love to hear your thoughts.