A sparkling warm November day, just enough of a chill to remind one of the passing of summer… The prosaic chores of the garden – pruning the delicate little Japanese Maple whose limbs seem somewhat ungainly, bare as they are of leafy covering. The satisfaction of a newly-purchased pair of offset pruners; clean, effortless cuts and the shaping of nature to a more tamed presence in this tiny suburban enclave – the tree is a thing of marvelous symmetry now. The rustle and crackling of leaves to be removed from gutters, raked from paths, and settled into garden beds to provide cover for plants and birds in the cold months to come. The garden looks to be slumbering, for the most part, though some brilliant late season climbing roses splash blooms across the fence. It is not the exuberant, multi-hued show of colour of the light half of the year, but the pleasing shapes and bones of the garden, the muted yet glorious autumn colours, the visceral sense of quietude and readying are a different kind of tonic and respite. Thickets of various shrubs, bright with berries to feed the birds, groupings of lingering flowers in sheltered spots: these are tonic. The palpable sense of repose, the winding down of summer’s frenetic energy – perhaps best of all, no sound of mowing or blowing machinery: this is respite. An afternoon in the autumn garden may be a marvelous metaphor for what our collective spirits require…

Yet who am I, to suppose a cure for the world’s ills? Nevertheless, this much I shall assert: that slowing down to enjoy the grace of everyday tasks, and the humble beauty we create and sustain is vital to human lives, as is some everyday quiet, some respite from the world of frenetic, mindless, unending ‘work’ that we are increasingly absorbed in.

I wish you a golden autumn afternoon, my imaginary friend. Some place and space where time slows down, where you lose yourself in the pleasure of homely tasks, where you end the day giving thanks for the joy of being merely alive.