Faith column: Autumnal strolls revive our spirit and community
Autumn and the falling leaves turn footpaths into slippery russet runways. Old gold and deep crimson become the shades of nature’s palette. Life slows down to catch its breath. The pink blush of dawn, then dusk, when the air begins to nip as indigo evening steals in to watch the nightly news.
And during the day, we walk. And walk. And walk some more.
We begin to wear scarves and long pants and wrap ourselves up in layers. We are readying ourselves for being cooped up indoors, with more time for reverie and rumination, an adaptation that prioritises the interior. We are changing gear, discerning a different rhythm to our days. And right now, we acknowledge this strange new season of pause and tilt and slowdown and lockdown, with its harshness and hard edges, its anxiety and uncertainty.
The autumn light gives us pause for reflection.Credit:Wayne Taylor
In this forced hibernation and the very close bosoming of family, many of us are taking the opportunity to walk like we’ve never walked before; purposefully striding so we raise the heart rate. We walk to think, clear the cobwebs, maintain fitness, see others out and about, shake the cabin fever, remind ourselves that the world can still offer solace. These are our small daily pilgrimages, for self and sanity and soul.
Suddenly, we have the sweet plenitude of time on our hands. I notice rainbow lorikeets nuzzling in my neighbour’s banksia tree, chalked hopscotch on driveways, mounds of leaves raked briefly into corners, the late blooming, blowsy summer roses bowing to the inevitable, dogs of all shapes and sizes taking their owners for a walk.
Autumn, too, is the season for measured walks and slow perambulations; for mooching and meandering and mellowing; for noticing the changes in the air as leaves crackle under foot. And now we see the slower stroll, the amble, the brisk gait, the zigzag of those scrolling, the family group with coffees in hand, all sorts of lively locomotion as we pass others on the footpath and maintain our distance. There are new, wry neighbourly smiles and glances. There is a complicity of understanding that creates community even with strangers.
As we get out and about, we respond again to the offerings of the season; the glimmer of grey cloud, the last swathes of clear blue sky, the sudden moody onslaught of rain. We weave its slower joys into the patchwork of our days.
And as we walk on, walk on, with hope in our hearts, we wait for the better days and brighter seasons in our shared lives.
For we are not walking alone.
Ann Rennie is a Melbourne teacher and writer.