Autumn’s gentle chill nudges summer’s warmth, transitioning long, hot nights into distant memories.

With fall’s approach, the calendar fills with seasonal activities. For my grandson and countless others, the first day of school arrives, painted with the hues of excitement for new adventures and a tinge of longing for the carefree days of summer. For me, it’s time to deadhead garden plants and rummage for sweaters, donning gloves for my brisk morning walks with Beaumont.

This shift occurs annually, yet each year, I find myself ensnared by “what if” musings, as sticky and persistent as bubblegum on a sunbaked sidewalk. Such thoughts seem futile when I consider the inevitability of autumn and the winter chill soon to follow on the howling breath of Arctic winds.

The fleeting nature of summer always evokes a wistful smile. Such is the human dilemma—wanting to resist change, the cascading leaves, the impending frost, and the ever-present march of time.

It’s the progression of age that amuses me most—though the amusement isn’t always light-hearted.

Last Saturday, my daughter and I took Beaumont and her two dogs for a mountain hike. It was a day full of warm sun bathed fresh air, shaded trails, and canine antics. Beaumont insisted on leading the pack, while Martha darted around, eagerly showcasing her discoveries with joyous smiles. Then there was Wilma—ever the pragmatist. At just three, she knows the value of conserving energy, choosing to trail behind at her own pace, as if living by the motto, “We’re all headed the same way, I’ll just arrive without the exhaustion.”

Aging, for me, is most evident in my feet. They register every step, reminding me of the miles they’ve tread through years of wandering hiking paths and ski trails. While in the past the return trek felt inconsequential, now every step resonates, urging me to reconsider the distance, as if I can make it shorter by my thoughts alone. Always, despite the slight (and sometimes not so slight) betrayals of age, I yearn for resilience.

That Saturday hike, a blend of laughter and reflections, was a reminder: life isn’t measured in years but in moments. And irrespective of what my feet might suggest, I plan to seize every one.

The Fall
by Louise Gallagher

The leaf does not plead with the stem, 
hold me, I’m dying.
Just as the stem does not
 beg the branch, don’t let me go, 
I’m afraid of falling.

In nature’s eternal way, 
when now becomes the time 
the branch releases the stem,
the stem lets go
and the leaf falls 
knowing nothing
but the fall
has arrived
and letting go
is all there is.