The leaves always speak the truth.
There is something about autumn ending that feels both final and necessary. The trees don't argue with it. They don't hold on to the last leaf out of stubbornness. When it's time, they let go — completely and without complaint — and they are the better for it come spring.
The leaves always speak the truth — they don't pretend to be something they're not, and they don't hold on when it's time to fall.
I've always paid attention to autumn more than other seasons. There is a richness to it — the colours, the smell of the air, the way the light comes in at an angle that makes everything look like an old photograph. And then it's gone, and you're standing in the bare bones of winter, and somehow that's okay too.
I took this note as a reminder to myself to let things end when they need to. Projects, habits, seasons — knowing when to release is its own kind of wisdom.
Fall is ending. And that's exactly as it should be.