Seasonal Rhythms: Grief, Equinox and Revival

As the autumn equinox arrives, day and night find the perfect balance. It’s a reminder that our lives, too especially now, need grounding, rhythm and balance.

Fall invites us to sink in roots, honor the turning of the season, and find renewal in quiet or simpler ways. Ritual becomes our anchor, a connectedness into this Earth and more deeply into ourselves.

For me planting is my first way and most natural form of ritual. An ancient seasonal dance shared by so many. I love that vision in my mind and heart, so many of us turning to the soil to grow food or harvest seeds to plant again in Spring. There’s something deeply comforting in this undulating rhythm, in sharing in this ritual. It is a deeply rooted communion of resilience and hope.

This month marks a full year since Hurricane Helene, a storm that roared not only into the mountains, but through the hearts of Western North Carolina and adjoining states. Grief has a way of scattering us, unrooting us from what feels steady. The path back has not been easy. I’ve carried not only my own sorrow, but the collective grief of a place I love.

In the aftermath, I walked every day. First in North Carolina, meeting neighbors also trying to make sense of all the loss. Then back into Texas, still walking, as if each step helped weave in strings of peace that could only be found in nature. There were small sacred moments. A flock of ducks coming low over the river, their wings sighing through the breeze they made. Bluebonnets pushing up through stone. Lone herons watching quietly. I’d sing the water blessing song holding the wounded rivers in my heart. Continually placing my hands in the soil, and let the earth hold what I could not carry alone.

The equinox circles us back into balance, but not perfection. It reminds us to honor the cycles of light and dark, joy and sorrow, loss and renewal. Just as the land finds its way back after a storm, so can we. Planting, even in the smallest container, becomes a quiet revival for both earth and spirit.

Grief doesn’t follow a neat timeline either, but nature’s rhythms remind us there is a larger complex pattern at work, even amid all the chaos. The shortening days, the softening light, the way leaves let go when it is time — they teach us how to carry loss and still move forward.

So some days I walk in rhythm with the earth, other days I stumble. Both belong.

Planting, walking, being with the land, breathing in stars — these are my rituals of quiet rebellion against despair.

This turning season, I invite you to create your own small ritual of revival. It doesn’t have to be grand, just one container, one patch of earth, one handful of seeds, one herb on a windowsill. Plant something in honor of what you’ve carried this past year — grief, joy, or simply the weight of being human.

Grounded in this Earth and in Gratitude,

Christina