A Still Fall Morning

This morning, when I took the dog for her walk, it was about 4°C outside and still somewhat dark. There was a deep calmness in the air.

We do this every day, so there isn’t much need for conversation or direction. She knows what to do, and I know what to do. After we had been out for a while, I simply said, “Let’s go home.”

That was when I noticed it….

My voice barely seemed to leave my mouth. It was almost as though I were standing inside a bubble, where the sound stayed close instead of traveling out into the field. The stillness felt eerie, but also strangely refreshing.

It brought me back to those cool fall mornings on canoeing trips—standing on the shoreline, watching mist rise from the lake. You could speak quietly to the person beside you, and your voice seemed to remain right there. Even voices farther down the camp reached you only as a soft murmur through the trees.

There may be scientific reasons for how sound travels on a cool, still morning, but knowing the science does not really explain the feeling.

Certain mornings seem to carry memory.

For a few moments, I was not simply remembering those canoeing trips. I could almost feel that shoreline again, with the mist lifting from the water and the camp slowly waking behind me.
Perhaps that is one of the quiet gifts of changing seasons. Summer gradually loosens its hold, and then one morning you step outside and realize that fall has arrived.

Nothing remarkable happened on our walk. We simply followed the same path we follow every morning. But for a few minutes, the world seemed smaller, quieter and more intimate. And perhaps that is why I noticed it.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10
Be still and know that I am.
Be still and know.
Be still.
Be.

It was an invitation to stand in the stillness. Just to notice it. To be present to the changing season, the memories it awakened, and the quiet presence of God within it.

The fall season is one of our Creator’s greatest teachers. It reminds us to observe how nature prepares for change in harmony with all of creation—the leaves turning brilliant shades of red and gold before gently releasing their hold and falling to the earth. In this surrender, nature teaches us about trust and harmony with the Creator’s rhythm. As the earth rests through winter, it quietly prepares for renewal. And when spring arrives, life returns with new energy, new growth, and the tender buds of trees reaching once again toward the light.

In this sacred dance of letting go and renewal, the Creator reminds us that change is not loss but transformation. Each season carries its own wisdom: fall teaches us to release, winter invites rest, spring awakens new life, and summer celebrates abundance. When we learn to move with creation rather than against it, we begin to see that every ending holds the seed of a new beginning. Our task is simply to trust the process, to walk gently with creation, and to allow the Creator’s hand to shape us into who we are meant to become.

Sometimes, that is enough…

We Prayer
Creator of all seasons,
teach us to trust in Your rhythm of life.
As the leaves let go, may we release what no longer serves us.
As the earth rests, may we find peace in stillness.
And as new life awakens,
may our hearts also be renewed—
open to Your transforming grace
and grateful for the lessons in creation You place before us.

By Rusty Gardiner, OMI