Leaning Into Fall

This morning’s walk carried the unmistakable feeling of fall. The air had that cool, crisp edge, and the sky stretched clear and wide. The mountains stood in silhouette, a deep solid shape against the brightening horizon. A few leaves let go and floated gently to the ground, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement for the season ahead.

Technically, the calendar still calls it summer for a couple more weeks. But for me, fall means my upcoming solo trip in October—and just the thought makes me a little giddy. It’s become a ritual of sorts: finding the most remote place I can, a pocket of wilderness where human encounters are rare. I car camp, hike, and let the silence fill me. I read. I write. I wander with my camera, capturing textures and shapes in nature with no pressure to be “good” at photography—just curious and open. For the introvert in me, these days of solitude feel like medicine. It’s only five days, but truthfully, I could stretch it to five weeks and not tire of it.

Fall, in so many ways, feels like an invitation to explore more deeply. The leaves turn brilliant, the air shifts cooler, and the earth stages its annual masterpiece—a show of color and change happening right in front of us. But fall is more than just beauty; it’s also wisdom. The trees are not afraid to release what no longer serves them. They let go, without clinging, to prepare for the quiet months ahead.

Watching this unfold makes me ask myself: What is it time for me to release? What no longer brings me life?

Maybe that’s the gift of fall—that gentle reminder that letting go is not loss, but preparation for what’s next.