The Hour Between

I've been noticing the tallest trees. Every so often, a single leaf lets go from way up high and drifts down slowly, turning in the light, taking its time. They land in the grass, barely a whisper, with bits of gold at the edges, and it feels a little early. Tomorrow is the first day of fall, and somehow, despite this stifling heat, they already knew.

There is an uncertainty in the air right now, and I feel it in myself too. So much has shifted this year. I am living in a new home, still learning its sounds and its light, still finding where everything belongs, including me. Some friendships that once felt steady have begun to drift, softly and without any real goodbye, the way two branches grow toward different light. I won't pretend that doesn't ache. And yet, in the same season, new friendships have begun to glow, warm and unexpected, like a lamp switched on in a room I didn't know was waiting for one, and I keep thinking about those leaves. They don't cling. They don't seem to grieve the branch. They simply loosen when it's time, trusting the ground to hold them and trusting the tree to bloom again.

On this last day of summer, I'm sitting with gratitude. For the home that held me before, and the one that is slowly becoming mine. For the friends who walked with me for a season and taught me so much, even as our paths widen. For the new friends who arrived just when I needed them. And for every change this year has brought, the welcome ones and the hard ones, because each of them has taught me something about holding on gently and letting go with grace.

The heat will eventually break. The leaves will keep falling. And I think I'm ready, or at least ready to become ready, to meet whatever this new season is bringing.

Happy New Autumn!