The Art Of Letting Go: The Poetry Of Autumn

Photo by Kim Fuller

As the days begin to cool and the shadows begin to lengthen, I find myself walking a little bit slower, reflecting a little more quietly and breathing a little bit deeper. At this time of year, monsoon skies accompany our days here on the Western Slope of Colorado, and there’s an unmistakable chill in the early morning air.

There’s no question about it: Autumn is on the rise, reminding us nothing stays the same.

The summer’s coming to a close.

The river where we panned for gold

will soon be strewn with fallen leaves.

The sego lily and the rose

have quieted. Today it seems

that all the world is gentling.

We have let go of clutching things.

From here we watch the seasons come

and go with a surprising ease.

It isn’t that we’ve bested fear,

or that we never wake, and know

in spite of love, we die alone.

It is enough to fall in love.

To fall in love and watch the world unfold.

Surely if there’s one thing autumn insists upon it’s the universal lesson of change, release and letting go.

For the poet, the creative act itself is an ongoing lesson in letting go. We find ourselves needing to surrender our preconceived notions every time we sit to write a poem. We may want to write a particular poem, or we may have something particular we want to say, but the poem always seems to have other plans, leading us down another road altogether.

If we insist on those preconceived notions, the poem inevitably arrives lifeless on the page.

Robert Frost advised that if there is no surprise for the writer there is no surprise for the reader. Indeed, not knowing how a movie or a book or a poem is going to end is part of the joy of the arts.

But surely this surrendering to “not knowing” is true not just of the arts, but of life itself.

We may think we can plan and organize our lives down to the letter, but time and time again, life reminds us it has other plans.

Anybody who has raised a child knows something about the art of letting go. Well, let’s be honest: anybody who has lived on planet Earth has experienced the process of letting go.

September saves its words,

then explodes. Its brilliance ferries in the cold. It blurs the line

between the holy and the ghost,

the intimate and the remote,

the parachute and riverboat,

the omen and the grace note.

Although we’ve all been conditioned to think about making personal changes or “resolutions” at the start of a new year, it makes more sense to me to look to nature herself as a kind of personal mentor, as the ultimate teacher, as the quintessential guide to flourishing or living a meaningful life.

Throughout the ages, it wasn’t just the poets and artists, but also the spiritual teachers and wisdom leaders who have encouraged us all to practice the art of change and to embrace the art of letting go.

Exactly what we are called to change or let go of is the real question. Perhaps we need to release a grudge, a bad habit, an unhealthy relationship or just our own negative self-talk.

Looking to the changing seasons as opportunities for reflection, new directions and change has been just one of the many delights that reading poetry has shown me over the years.

But poetry is also really good at reminding us that we humans are a work in progress.

We never find ourselves arriving at a place of perfection and residing there — that’s why we call it the creative practice! And isn’t the living of your own life the ultimate act of creativity?

The gifts we find under the rocks

of the conscious mind

are gifts that bind the tender ties

and loose the noose

around our necks, only to find

a stillness,

an unexpected

swiftness, a sudden bout

of genius — (or hopefulness) —

a necessary restlessness, perhaps

even the dawning

of forgiveness.

Originally published in the Fall 2024 issue of Spoke+Blossom.