Dear one,
I recently read a report stating that people’s connection to nature has declined by more than sixty percent since 1800, almost exactly mirroring the disappearance of nature words such as river, moss, and blossom from books, according to a study. This might not seem significant at first, but it is deeply telling.
One of the many gifts of living close to nature is the invitation to live according to the seasons. The older I get, the more I recognise the seasons in all areas of life. I find myself reconnecting with cycles, adjusting, pausing, honouring, and witnessing the beauty they hold, realising how this creates so much more awareness in all aspects of my life. I find myself repeatedly allowing softness and tenderness into my life. Something, most of us, have never learned in childhood.
This morning, I woke up with a sudden urge to make a mineral-rich vegetable broth, to cleanse, even using root vegetables like potatoes, which I have not eaten in weeks, if not months. I did not think much of it until I went for a morning walk and realised the temperature had dropped. The air felt crisp, even cold for a moment. My shoes left outside were slightly damp. As soon as I noticed these subtle changes, I slowed my pace. I heard a frog in the background, absent for months, and realised we are gently entering early autumn. The days are still hot, but the change is there.
Life itself follows cycles: child, adolescent, adult, elder, just as the seasons move through spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Women experience this monthly, as the autumn phase begins after ovulation. And men, too, live through their own seasons and cycles. The moon has cycles, impacting night lighting and ocean tides, and the crops are planted in seasons.
Observing the turning of the seasons can serve as a guide to our own natural rhythms. Each change marks a transition, a threshold to cross, and these transitions help us understand our own rites of passage through life. They act as anchors in an ever-changing world, offering us space to pause, reflect, live with intention, and cultivate gratitude and grace.
For ancient civilisations, following the cycles and seasons was a matter of survival. The arrival of spring meant planting seeds that would grow into the food sustaining them through winter. Their daily rhythms were set by the sun, and their intentional connection with the seasons fostered a deep bond with the natural world. It is easy to see why our ancestors nurtured a profound, reciprocal relationship with the land and found community through these shared experiences.
They also marked transitions with ceremonies, both small and large, to honour the turning points of life and season. This is something many of us have lost, yet it can be as simple as lighting a candle with intention. Ceremony and ritual are powerful ways to honour change, and I can share more about this another time.
There is so much happening in the world right now that can feel heavy and beyond our control. Many of us are carrying grief, anger, or even a sense of hopelessness. When the outer world feels unpredictable, it can be easy to lose our grounding. Thresholds and seasons can guide us here. They remind us that change is inevitable, that endings give way to beginnings, and that life moves in cycles. By honouring even the smallest transitions in our daily lives, like the shift from summer to autumn, we create a sense of steadiness inside ourselves. These small acts of presence can become anchors, helping us hold the grief of the world while also staying connected to beauty, gratitude, and hope.
All the transitions we go through in life, big or small, are thresholds. They are moments where we might struggle or face challenges, yet if we embrace them, we inevitably gain knowledge and wisdom, and become more embodied and whole. To return from a threshold is to be changed, bringing newfound clarity back into the world. This may sound mystical, but think about it.
Your job changes. A relationship ends. You meet someone new. You fall in love. You move house. You face or overcome sickness. You marry. You divorce. You fight with a friend. You experience success. You lose your sense of identity. Every one of these is a rite of passage, a threshold to cross, and all are in need of our full attention. Yet too often, we rush through them, eager to leave them behind. In truth, these transitions are sacred. They are the building blocks that shape who we are. Should they not deserve more reverence? Without this, the transformation does not complete, and we often get stuck in time, with the suppression of our own inner worlds.
If you long to live with a calmer nervous system, learning how to ground yourself through these thresholds is a key practice.
And so, returning to the seasons, the passage from summer to autumn is itself a threshold. We slow down, turn inward, plant the last seeds, shift our diets. Sweaters emerge from closets, the heating might come on at night. Summer events fade, and our social lives quiet. The duvet is returned to the bed, and, my favourite, the candles multiply in the evenings.
If you can be fully present with the changes of the seasons, you will also become more able to be present with the transitions in your own life.
Every change must be felt. Every change deserves your undivided attention. Learning slowly how to be fully present with everything is a superpower that no one can ever take away from you. It enriches your life in ways I cannot even explain.
And as a result, your connections to everyone and everything else will deepen, revealing real, true authenticity at its core.