In November, in Québec, the same gestures return. Winter tires before December 1st. Leaves to rake one last time. The coat we pull back out of the closet. No one blames autumn for not being summer. We simply prepare.
With ourselves, we are often less patient. We want to be productive all the time, available all the time, in a good mood all the time. As if a successful life should look like one long month of July.
Ecclesiastes looked at the world without illusions. He saw birth and death, planting and uprooting, weeping and laughing. He does not say that everything is equal. He says that each thing has its moment, and that this moment does not always last.
I think back to certain seasons I would have liked to skip. Looking back, that is often where something took root, quietly.
We can welcome the season we are in. Slow down when the days grow shorter. Keep the Sabbath as an appointment, not a luxury. Do today what belongs to today.
Seasons pass. Each one brings what only it can give.