Autumn reminds us that nothing given up in faith is ever truly lost.
Autumn does not arrive with force.
It arrives by degrees.
The heat loosens. The evenings lengthen. Light softens and settles rather than presses down. What summer exposed, autumn begins to gather — drawing the year inward, preparing it for restraint, remembrance, and renewal.
This is a season of transition and attention. Leaves turn and fall not in haste, but in quiet abundance. The land relinquishes what it has carried. Colour deepens — gold, rust, amber — and the world seems briefly illuminated before it darkens.
In the rhythm of the Church, autumn carries the weight of Lent and Easter. It is a season shaped by sacrifice and promise held together: fasting and feasting, sorrow and joy, death and resurrection bound in the same story. Nothing is hurried here. Everything is purposeful.
Autumn teaches us how to let go without despair — how to lay things down so that something truer may rise.
It is a season of:
- sacrifice and surrender
- preparation rather than completion
- beauty that passes, yet is not wasted
- hope revealed through restraint
The months that follow trace this movement from turning to transformation — from the first signs of change to the deep brightness of Easter and the quiet work that follows it.
“Autumn is a second spring, when every leaf is a flower.” — Albert Camus