A Question of Seasons?

Autumn: Season of Mist and Mellow Fruitfulness

Greetings, dear Sunny Optimist Buddies,

On writing days, I love waking up in the morning and thinking of what I could post that might brighten your day. I started this newsletter in September 2020 to help me cope with the lockdowns when I could not be with my family and friends. I intuitively knew it would be good for me. However, I did not quite see the deeper dimension that it would bring to how I observe and engage in my everyday life. As a result of The Sunny Optimist, I am more aware of what is around me, more open to capturing ideas that intrigue me, and more trusting of the creative opportunities to share what comes to me in this space.

Thank you for being on this journey with me.

I so enjoy the anticipation that arises within me as an idea sparks my interest. On my morning walk today, I became aware of the quality of the light and the mist dancing on the autumn-coloured trees. I appreciate this time of year in Scotland. The dusk comes earlier and earlier, and the temperatures begin to cool as it heralds the change of season. The birds are gathering to migrate, and there is a sense of anticipation of the hunkering down that will come in winter. I like to pay attention to seasonal cycles because they acknowledge the flow of each year in a steadfast, deeply reassuring way. However, I also realised today that I have yet to explicitly explore why the seasons occur the way they do.

So here I go!

Did you know the Earth's axial tilt is 23.5 degrees as it orbits around the Sun and that this tilt is at the heart of our seasonal cycles? The leading theory for the Earth's axial tilt is that a cataclysmic cosmic event occurred about 4.5 billion years ago. It is called the Giant Impact Hypothesis. Scientists think that a protoplanet called Theia collided with the early Earth, causing the Earth to tilt, and the subsequent debris led to the formation of the Moon. 

Without the tilt, there would be no seasons, and the weather would be consistently stratified from north to south, making it virtually uninhabitable for human life. The north and south would be too cold, and the equator would be an extreme rainforest that could not sustain the growth of food. These insights brought to mind Brian Swimme's epic book and video, The Journey of the Universe, where he details many fortuitous occurrences that have enabled life on Earth. Not just the axial tilt and the Moon's formation but also aspects like our unique position in our Solar System - called the Goldilocks Principle - not too near the Sun and not too far away. Just right! Then there is photosynthesis, the unique properties of water and the Earth's Magnetic Shield, to name a few. I also read that Jupiter acts like a giant hoover to protect us from space debris. Mmmmm, I need to explore that a wee bit more. So fascinating! 

Image from google socratic.org

The image above shows how the seasons work. As you can see, during summer in the Northern Hemisphere, the top half of Earth tilts toward the Sun, and in the Winter, the bottom half. This tilt affects both the number of daylight hours and how directly the sunlight hits the Earth's surface. Thus, we have the Summer and Winter Solstice and the Spring and Autumn Equinoxes. As I explored this topic of the axial tile, I became aware of the origin of the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. These are the furthest points north and south where the Sun can appear directly overhead in the Northern Hemisphere. They initially occurred with the Summer Solstice in the Zodiac sign of Cancer and the Winter Solstice in the sign of Capricorn, hence their names. 

Wow, that's a new revelation for me, something I hadn't paid much attention to before. It's fascinating how much there is to learn about our planet and its relationship with the Sun. 

So let me return now to my musings on this beautiful autumnal day.

The poem To Autumn by John Keats popped into my mind, and I grinned, even grimaced, as I remember having to memorise it at school. It offers such an evocative homage to Autumn.  Thank you to Charles Lamb at Unsplash for this evocative photograph of the 'mists and mellow fruitfulness' that Keats describes. The changing of the season reminds us to pay attention to the cycles of our lives, too. Autumn is a time to touch into the rightness of what needs to fall away in preparation for resting during the Winter. 

The poem's second line is 'Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun', and Keats speaks about this being a transition time. Autumn is about harvesting, moving from the bountifulness of summer to gathering in that bounty to sustain us over the wintertime. We often don't take the time to look back over the year to see what bounty is there to celebrate and honour. It is vital to our well-being to honour and celebrate what has gone before in a way that supports us in looking forward with optimism and trust.

So today, I invite you to step outside to be with nature, go for a walk, look up at the sky, notice the changing season around you, and look for the bounty in your life. 

Here are some questions to open the doorway to exploration.

• What is maturing in your life that brings a sense of hope? 

• What are you reaping that gives you joy in this moment?

• What beauty surrounds you that opens your heart to feel optimistic about the future? 

As always, I would love to hear from you. 

Ann

To Autumn

by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.