Autumn: endings, beginnings & the space in between
“The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town.”
Emily Dickinson (c. 1865)
For some, the arrival of autumn brings pleasure and anticipation: crisper mornings, changing leaves, cosy evenings, and the return of familiar routines after the openness of summer.
For others, autumn is less welcome. The shortening days can bring a sense of loss. Summer is over, the evenings are drawing in and the months ahead can feel like something to endure rather than look forward to. For those who experience significant seasonal changes in mood, autumn can feel like the beginning of a long winter.
Perhaps this is part of what makes autumn such a curious season. It is a time of endings and beginnings, of letting go and moving forward, and of being somewhere in between.
Endings and beginnings
Lingering summer nights fade slowly. Holidays come to an end. Children return to school. Familiar patterns shift. Warmth gradually gives way to cooler days. There can be a quiet sense of loss as summer slips away. We may miss its sense of freedom and the feeling of having more time. We may also miss the people, places and experiences that have been part of it. Even an ending we have been expecting can carry a sense of sadness.
But autumn also brings beginnings. Daily patterns shift, work often picks up again, and there may be fresh plans, projects or relationships — or simply a renewed sense of structure after the ease of the warmer months. September can feel like a fresh start.
We can feel sad about something ending while also feeling curious about what comes next. A new beginning might feel exciting, but it can bring uncertainty too. Sometimes we don't know exactly what lies ahead, only that the landscape is changing.
And change can affect us in ways we don't always expect. Familiar routines, places and relationships can give us a sense of continuity and belonging. When they change, even temporarily, we may feel less anchored. We can find ourselves looking back while trying to orient ourselves towards what is ahead.
This is part of the ebb and flow of life. Endings and beginnings rarely arrive neatly separated from one another. We can grieve what has passed while remaining open to what might come next. There are moments when a new beginning only becomes possible because something else has ended.
The space in between
Autumn itself seems to occupy this space.
It doesn't arrive all at once. The light changes first. The sun begins to lose its summer intensity, the temperature drops, the evenings draw in and the leaves slowly lose their green. Summer has not quite disappeared, but winter has not yet arrived.
In mid-autumn, the fading light creates a particularly beautiful moment, poised between day and night. The world seems briefly suspended between the two.
There is a word for this kind of experience: liminality. It describes being on a threshold, between one state and another. The familiar has begun to recede, while what comes next has not yet fully taken shape.
Being in this kind of space can feel unsettling. We are often more comfortable when we know where we are, who is around us and what is expected of us. Familiarity can bring a sense of safety. When things change, we may find ourselves wanting to hold on to what we know, even when we also recognise that change is necessary.
Yet there can also be a sense of restfulness in not having arrived anywhere yet. We don't always have to know what comes next. Sometimes we need time to adjust, to find our bearings and to allow a new sense of familiarity to develop. Perhaps this is part of what gives autumn its particular atmosphere. It is a season of transition, but also of pause.
Letting go
Trees don't hold on to their leaves indefinitely. There is a natural rhythm of change, of holding on and eventually releasing. We can find ourselves struggling to let go of relationships, experiences, hopes and versions of ourselves long after they have changed or come to an end. Sometimes letting go is imposed on us; sometimes it is chosen. It can also create space for what comes next.
But not every ending needs to be turned into a positive. Some endings are simply sad. Some are worth grieving. We don't always have to find a lesson or a silver lining. We simply need to acknowledge that something has been lost.
And sometimes what we are grieving is not only what has happened, but the sense of connection or belonging that went with it. We can miss people, places and versions of our lives because they helped us feel known, held or at home.
When autumn isn't so romantic
Autumn is often portrayed as cosy and beautiful. But not everyone experiences the season in the same way. The shorter days and diminishing light can feel difficult, particularly for those whose mood is affected by the approach of winter. For some, autumn may also bring memories of loss, loneliness, difficult anniversaries or other experiences associated with this time of year.
We each carry our own associations with the seasons. The same darkening evening that feels peaceful to one person may feel heavy to another. One person may welcome the return of routine, while someone else experiences it as a loss of freedom, connection or familiarity.
The clocks going back in October can make this time of year particularly harsh. Suddenly darkness arrives earlier and winter seems much closer. The changing season can bring a genuine sense of dread. It can feel like the beginning of a long decline in energy, motivation and mood.
Whilst others may be talking about the beauty of autumn, you may simply be thinking: here we go again… That feeling of heartsink as the season looms can be hard to explain.
If this is your experience, you don't need to persuade yourself to love this time of year. It may be more helpful to acknowledge what this time of year brings up for you and think about how you can support yourself through it.
Meeting autumn differently
Preparing before the darker months arrive may help. Maintaining routines, getting outside during daylight, staying connected with others and making space for things you genuinely enjoy can all be part of that preparation.
Staying connected may be particularly important. When the days become shorter and there is less opportunity for spontaneous contact, it can be easy to retreat without noticing. Connection doesn't have to mean filling the diary. A few steady, familiar relationships can provide a sense of continuity through a changing season.
It can also help to notice what autumn means to you personally. What do you associate with this time of year? What do you tend to lose, and what do you tend to gain? What helps you feel grounded when the familiar landscape around you is changing? And if you know your mood changes significantly with the seasons, seeking support early rather than waiting until things become overwhelming can be important.
There can also be something reassuring in recognising the pattern: This happens to me at this time of year. But it will pass. Knowing that a difficult period has a pattern - and an ending - can make it feel less mysterious and less overwhelming.
In conclusion
There is no single way to experience autumn. We each find our own autumn, shaped by what we have known, who we have shared it with, what we are leaving behind and what we are moving towards.
And there is no single way we are supposed to feel about endings and beginnings either. We can welcome something and grieve what it replaces. We can look forward while still looking back. We can feel ready for change and still long for what was familiar.
Maybe autumn offers us a reminder that there is value in the space between things: in noticing what has ended, allowing ourselves to grieve what we have lost, staying connected to what matters to us, and allowing what comes next to take shape in its own time.
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