"Autumn Dreaming" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Although I still rise early—always have, always will—I've noticed something shifting. Morning no longer arrives in a rush of golden light. Instead, she takes her time, cloaked in shadows and silence. The stars cling to the edges of the sky a little longer, reluctant to yield. The moon, soft and gold, lingers like a gentle hand resting on the shoulder of night.
To the east, faint strokes of color begin to brush the horizon—a promise of light, not yet fulfilled. And though the robins and wrens are quieter now, the dawn is not silent. In the distance, the tremolo of a loon echoes across the morning hush, a haunting, soul-stirring note that cuts through the stillness like a memory calling you home.
Yes, I am in the midst of my morning coffee garden walk—my daily ritual of reflection and replenishment. A sacred time when the world is still soft around the edges and my spirit is most awake. The air feels different this morning. There’s a hush beneath the hush. A whisper that stirs the leaves. I can feel it in my bones: the call of fall.
And oh, how I love fall.
Even as I try to stay rooted in the present, grateful for this moment, I feel a thrill of anticipation. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Its arrival is not abrupt, but a gathering—like the gentle deepening of breath before a song begins. Mild sunlit days give way to crisp, cool nights. Trees burst into firework displays of amber, crimson, and gold. Fields brim with harvest. Pumpkins ripen. Cider simmers. Migrating birds chart celestial paths. Nature, with instinctual grace, begins to tuck itself in for the long sleep of winter.
As I walk, the quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald wanders through my mind like a friend joining me in the garden: “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
Yes. Even now, with more years behind me than ahead, I feel it. That quiet renewal. That invitation to begin again. To savor what is. To gather the gifts of the past seasons and carry them gently into what comes next.
This morning is not just beautiful—it is sacred. The kind of beauty that makes you pause. The kind that stirs something ancient within you. A knowing. A remembering. A joy not dependent on circumstance but rooted in simply being alive.
So I breathe it in—the coolness of the air, the stillness of the trees, the softness of light just beginning to filter through the leaves. And I say, with a grateful heart:
Good morning, beautiful day.
I see you.
I thank you.
And I welcome the wonder of what’s to come.
* * * * * * * * * *
“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.” ~Virginia Woolf
~Wylddane
To the east, faint strokes of color begin to brush the horizon—a promise of light, not yet fulfilled. And though the robins and wrens are quieter now, the dawn is not silent. In the distance, the tremolo of a loon echoes across the morning hush, a haunting, soul-stirring note that cuts through the stillness like a memory calling you home.
Yes, I am in the midst of my morning coffee garden walk—my daily ritual of reflection and replenishment. A sacred time when the world is still soft around the edges and my spirit is most awake. The air feels different this morning. There’s a hush beneath the hush. A whisper that stirs the leaves. I can feel it in my bones: the call of fall.
And oh, how I love fall.
Even as I try to stay rooted in the present, grateful for this moment, I feel a thrill of anticipation. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Its arrival is not abrupt, but a gathering—like the gentle deepening of breath before a song begins. Mild sunlit days give way to crisp, cool nights. Trees burst into firework displays of amber, crimson, and gold. Fields brim with harvest. Pumpkins ripen. Cider simmers. Migrating birds chart celestial paths. Nature, with instinctual grace, begins to tuck itself in for the long sleep of winter.
As I walk, the quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald wanders through my mind like a friend joining me in the garden: “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
Yes. Even now, with more years behind me than ahead, I feel it. That quiet renewal. That invitation to begin again. To savor what is. To gather the gifts of the past seasons and carry them gently into what comes next.
This morning is not just beautiful—it is sacred. The kind of beauty that makes you pause. The kind that stirs something ancient within you. A knowing. A remembering. A joy not dependent on circumstance but rooted in simply being alive.
So I breathe it in—the coolness of the air, the stillness of the trees, the softness of light just beginning to filter through the leaves. And I say, with a grateful heart:
Good morning, beautiful day.
I see you.
I thank you.
And I welcome the wonder of what’s to come.
* * * * * * * * * *
“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.” ~Virginia Woolf
~Wylddane
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