Hello Autumn, it's good to see you.
a last weekend of summer | blue skies | change
I love those leaves, yellow and green, swinging in the wind. Summer and autumn next to each other. Just outside my huge living room window, on the neighbour’s grounds, are these two big, old lime trees growing. When I left roughly two weeks ago for a six-day holiday trip to the sea, they were still green and only their ripened fruits, small helicopter-leaves with a tiny ball at the end, would tell about the seasonal shift, about that not-there-yet-but-soon-will-be.
At least, to be very honest, I imagine it like this, because I hardly remember. The days before my holiday were filled with busyness and I was longing to head off to a different place. To get some kilometres between real life and me. As so often this summer, I felt like there were too few hours, too much to do and at the same time as I wasn’t doing anything. My clothes were packed in a hurried in-between moment, until they found their way into my car the next morning, when we – my mother and I – drove off to explore a place we’ve never been to.
Yes, I hadn’t noticed the leaves of the lime trees next door, but when I sat in the car, driving northwards, I noticed soon that nature looked different the further we came. Trees seemed a bit brown, yellow or red. The greens were darker, just about to shift their colour. You know? That green that tells you: it’s late into the year and soon there won’t be any more green left. Instead, it will make space for a small burst of either earthy, brown shades or an explosion of colours – yellow, orange and red showing off. Right now, autumn was giving you glimpses on what’s to come, a little cliff hanger if you will, a to-be-continued sign.
Upon arrival, we quickly stored our things, had a look around our room (which was cute!) and went on a late afternoon walk to the beach. My mum loves the sea, having sailed with her parents when she was young; and with all our childhood holidays, she handed down this love to my sister and I. We love beach walks, autumnal wind at the sea, looking at sailboats, or searching for shells and stones to point out at the water edge. And so, we walked through a newly-build holiday cottages area for people with lo
ts of money and that looked so different to the little oldish hotel we were about spend our time in (we had a look at the apartment prices in the window display of an estate agent – just WOW), until we arrived at an almost empty beach. Waves came rolling in, the sun was slowly setting, adding orange hues to the world. It was perfect. Just hearing and looking at the ocean delights me and usually calms me down within seconds.
The following days were spent in a last burst of summer: with lots of sunshine, coffees outside, great food and exploring small villages or driving through the countryside. It felt like summer wanted to show off one last time. The world was blue: Blue skies, blue water. Sparkling in delight, with white sailboats floating along in a gentle breeze, creating scenes that seemed more like paintings than real. And indeed, it made me feel as far away from real life as I had hoped. Like time had stopped for a minute, allowing me to stand firmly, breathe in deeply and holding on for a while. The days moved forward, but much slower and more recognised than at home, hours only separated by food: breakfast, a coffee stop, a late lunch, an even later cake with hot chocolate or tea and nothing for dinner, because we had cake, when it was time for dinner.
Then, suddenly, the weather changed throughout the afternoon of our last day. Clouds appeared, the wind moved into a different direction, and I knew: this was it. Summer is waving goodbye and tomorrow we’ll be greeting autumn. Where I live – close to the middle of Germany, but more on the northern edge of it – the wind has always been the conductor upon which to judge the weather. Usually, eastern winds mean dry, warm weather or in winter they bring sunshine and it’s freezingly cold, whereas western winds are a bit trickier. Depending on the season and direction (northern or southern) it's either colder or warmer, but usually they are connected to rain and humidity. And so, with a change to the west, autumn arrived when we departed, bringing with it the very first autumnal storm and rain.
When driving home, it became visible that nature had noticed the shift as well and as we were entering our home village, I spotted the yellow leaves, sprinkling the street underneath our neighbour’s lime tree. Many found their way down since then, highlighting the dark tarmac road with bright dots of colour and even though many are still clinging onto the tree, I know we only need one cold night until they will suddenly all fall off to make space for winter. I hope these cold nights are still lying a few weeks ahead, as I’d love to wander through half-fallen leaves and colourful forests. Although it’s been beautiful and painful to say goodbye to summer, especially on such a perfect weekend, I’m welcoming rainy days, mud and the smell of wet soil and fallen leaves on forest grounds.
By saying goodbye to summer, I just came to realise, I’m also slowly starting to say goodbye to much more. It’s been a summer of changes, of becoming clearer, of growing a lot, of burning out and finding sparks again. And as we’re heading into the slow seasons, I’m leaving behind something that had been a reality ever since and will now be the past. I’m waving farewell at my twenties, at a year of letting go and of grieving. I'm welcoming rainy days to pour it all off, feel the release and watch it all trickling into the soil underneath. Hello Autumn.
About me: Hello, I’m Mareike, the writer of this newsletter hills to heart. I’m also the writer of my free Studio Journal newsletter, my Studio Blog and an artist, trying to capture the world around me with oils, watercolour or whatelse comes my way. Feel free to explore my art on my website and shop through my online shop.
Thank you for writing this! It's such a gradual shift at first, but then there are these sudden bursts of change, too. I'm not quite as welcoming about the change yet, this summer has been one of growth and self-discovery, too, and I would have been okay with it lingering a bit longer. But here's autumn, not caring about what I want, which is exactly as it should be.