Autumn. The change-time. The living but dying time of fruitfulness and listlessness. Looking back on summer gone and spring so far away; waiting for the cold bones of winter to wrap us in its fleshless grip. This passing from now to then; from what was to what is to what will be; this unstoppable, unending change, a ceaseless wonder, more than at any other time of the year sets us in the moment; in the now of being; in the knowing that what we are is nothing, an instant already gone. And the relief of letting go is immense.