Here in early November, autumn has finally arrived. In some places, that means bright maples or gusty cold winds. In Austin, it means it is at last cool enough to open the windows and take walks outdoors at whatever time the spirit wishes.
Several times this past week, I’ve been told that autumn is a time associated with grief. The trees lose their leaves, the green retreats, the days grow shorter. Last weekend, the Día de los Muertos altars were laden with marigolds. My brother and sister-in-law placed near their photos a deck of cards for my dad, a cup of tea for my mom.
In this season of grief, I found tucked away this poem by Jane Hirshfield. It’s a reminder that all of us carry our sadnesses, our griefs, those visible and those not. Perhaps in that knowledge, we can greet each other with more gentleness.
“In a room with five people, six griefs.
Some you will hear of, some not.”
