The first and the last time I fell in love it was autumn. Although there’s never a bad time of year to fall in love, there’s something about the months ending in -ber, when falling temps make the warmth of another human being even more desirable. There’s something about the trees losing their leaves, vulnerable and on the cusp of being fully known, that brings out my hopeless romantic.

I looked at the trees this morning and thought, “There will be more blue sky soon.” I’ll miss the fiery canopy that right now takes my breath away, but find I’m equally inspired by the thought of an unencumbered view of whatever is in front of me. These days, I’m trying to look up more than down, making friends with the vast expanse that lies beyond the here and now. Easier said than done, but I’m trying.

It’s almost a spiritual practice, walking through falling leaves and challenging myself to let everything that’s no longer useful fall away from me, too. I’ve spent a lifetime romanticizing fall, forgetting its beauty is dependent on the trees changing, then standing bare before the world until it’s time for them to start the process again.

Next week, repairs begin underneath my home. Unlike the trees, this is work no one will see. There will be no oohing and aahing at the changes, just sighs of relief as my home is made safe for its inhabitants. But, like the work I’m doing on myself these days, it’s enough for me to know the depth and breadth and cost of what’s being done. Soon this transformation will be behind me (as well as beneath me) and I’ll be able to focus more fully on the blue skies that lie ahead.