Yesterday was the last summer day here in the Italian countryside:
I could sense the seasonal weather shift, as the pleasant September sun gave way to the cool breeze and the first scents of autumn.
I visited a nearby lake with some relatives I hadn't seen for years. We strolled along the village, which is a long tongue jutting into the lake. In the outskirts of the village, you could see overgrown spent grass on the sides of the path; as we progressed towards the village centre the grass gave way to smooth stones cut in squares, from the Middle Ages.
The few inhabitants left from the summer spoke in hushed voices.
The silence was the true voice of the place, and its soul. Not the lonely kind, but the restoring, nurturing silence of nature, of trees and bushes and greenery contemplating their reflection in the blue mirror of the waters below.
And today the weather in this corner of the Italian countryside has been decidedly autumnal: a subtle mist has enveloped the valley and steady rain has swept away the summer for good.
Here we are, at that time of the year when day and night are of equal length. A place of balance, a place of rest, of taking stock, of quiet reflection.
I love autumn. It resets my biological and mental clocks. It makes me pause to listen to what matters to my soul after the summer buzz.
A new creative season starts today. Time to attend to inspiration and creative incubation. Time to go through a gentle process of purification, shedding what is no longer relevant, observation. Time to lay the ground for new creations.