The Ache of Autumn in Us
“The Ache of Autumn in Us”
From Praying Our Goodbyes, by Joyce Rupp
The trees grow more restless;
October wind weaves through them;
they shake their arms in dismay
As if to fight the coming cold
And the grief of leaves going.
Autumn air does a heart-dance
on branches already gone barren;
the misty air clings to golden leaves,
making the trees bend even lower.
It is a season to hold the trees close,
to stand with them in their grieving.
It is a time to open my inner being
to the misty truths of my own goodbyes.
Autumn comes. It always does.
Goodbye comes. It always does.
The trees struggle with this truth today
and in my deepest of being, so do I.
Every autumn, nostalgia fills me;
every autumn, yearning holds me.
I cling to the ripeness of summer,
knowing it will be many long months
before I can catch a breath of lilac,
or the green of freshly mown grass.
And so I begin my fallow vigil,
remembering the truth of the ages;
Unless the wheat seed dies
it cannot sing a new birth.
Unless summer gives in to autumn
springtime will never embrace me.
Every autumn reminds me of my vulnerability. It carries the truth that life is fragile, that there are no sure guarantees for a trouble-free life, that there is always some dying in living, that change is inevitable. I was reminded of this in a particularly harsh way last October, There was a beautiful young linden tree just outside my office window. It was a golden glory in the sunshine, full of bright yellow, autumn leaves. One morning a strong wind came from the grey northeast sky. I stood and watched that young tree as every last leaf was stripped and torn away. In less than an hour the tree stood in nakedness, a golden circle of summer’s growth at its feet.
I hurt for the tree in its emptiness. Then slowly I saw myself as the linden, moving through my own life stages, knowing how I, too, have sometimes felt the harsh blows of a ripping away. I stood by the window of my inner world and saw the story of transformation pass before me in invitation. At that moment I prayed hard and deep for openness and for the gift not to fight the process of goodbye.
But as I looked at the empty tree, my prayer became barely a whisper. All those beautiful leaves on the ground, the seemingly tragic stripping of a tree full of life! I felt that no part of me could easily say yes to an experience like that. As I turned away from the window I sensed a kinship with autumn. It had spoken loudly about the way life is with its going, grieving, growing story.
There is an “ache” in autumn that is also within each one of us. This ache is the deep stillness of a late September morning when mist covers the land and the sound of geese going south fills the sky. There is a wordless yearning or a longing for something in the air, and it penetrates the human spirit. It is a tender, nostalgic desire to gather our treasures and hold them close because the ache tells us that someday those treasures will need to be left behind. Autumn speaks to this pain in our own spirits, that ache which we try so hard to ignore or deny or push aside, that little persistent reminder that death is always a part of life.
The ache of autumn that is in us has two faces: One is an ache that lies deep down inside our being. The other is the ache that results from our own individual, particular losses - those farewells that are always going on in our lives.
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Sister Joyce Rupp, O.S.M., is a Roman Catholic author and speaker. She is the co-director of The Institute of Compassionate Presence, a member of the Servite Order, and a volunteer for hospice. Joyce has a Bachelor of Arts degree in English, a Master of Arts degree in Transpersonal Psychology, and a Master of Religious Education (MRE) degree. She lives in Des Moines, Iowa.