Summer is gone. Winter is near. And autumn? Like a bridge, it transitions the possibilities of summer into the chills of winter. The temperature drops, forests change color, and murals of red leaves cover the desert floors.
Autumn makes sales from wrapped chocolates, pumpkin-spiced coffees, and itchy sweaters. The slow, melancholic season quickly turned around with crowded Haunted Houses and loud Thanksgiving dinners. As people moved into an urban environment, autumn lost its true meaning. Originally this transitioning period was called harvest. People would work together to reap the fruits of their yearlong labor. Families organized festivals to celebrate the hard work of agriculture. Men, women, and children worked from sunrise to sunset to collect all the crops.
Then, cities emerged, life got hectic, and modern man left harvest in the Medieval past. There is no need to collect anything anymore because there is always an infinite supply. Never-ending things to do, places to be, and problems to solve. A surplus of work is what these efficient computers have created.
In this infinite hole of busywork, time passes by without carrying meaning. When lines slowly engrave in our face, anti-aging creams crowd the counter, and we ask for no candles on the birthday cake. In this panic, people try to stomp on the beaks of time. But even the tall evergreens fray at the ends and grow tired. Nature always moves on, with or without us. The preservation of youth is not what we need. It's what we need to break out of.
Take the years you've collected and the experiences you've gathered. Reap, reflect, and extract the beautiful lessons they hold. Without reflection, we age. With reflection, we become wise. So pause on the useless efforts that never produce anything and replace them with work that develops fruit. And not something that lasts a day or a month. Instant gratification is not what harvest seeks. Find something that carries you through the cold and dark winters. Something that provides you pleasure, hope, and light.