The temperature is slowly getting colder. In Vancouver, the atmosphere is shifting—what was once clear and bright is now tinted with shades of orange and yellow. The autumn wind has begun to whisper its arrival, and with it, a transformation begins.
This was the scene two and a half decades ago when my family and I first set foot in British Columbia. We arrived during autumn, a season entirely unfamiliar to us. Coming from Bahrain, a small nation in the Middle East, where the sun shines year-round, we were used to warm, bright days filled with life and energy. The stark contrast of Vancouver’s dark skies, cold winds, and bare trees left a strong impression on me. I remember looking around and feeling that everything was lifeless, like the trees themselves had no spirit or emotion. It felt bleak and alien—so unlike the bustling, sunny days of the country we had left behind.
But as time passed, I began to notice the quiet beauty in this season of change. The once vibrant trees, now shedding their golden leaves, were not dying but preparing. The falling leaves were a signal, a reminder that in order to face the harsh winter ahead, the trees needed to let go of what they no longer required. It was a stark contrast from the perpetual vibrancy of the Middle East, but in that shedding, I found a lesson.
Autumn brings with it a shift not only in the landscape but also in our own lives. Just as the trees release their leaves, we too must evaluate what we hold on to and what we let go of. Life is full of transitions, and sometimes we need to prepare for colder, more challenging times by shedding old habits, relationships, or beliefs that no longer serve us. It may seem, at first glance, that this loss makes us bare, exposed, and lifeless. The trees, now stripped of their leaves, might appear dead, but they are simply conserving energy, holding on to what matters most, and waiting for the right time to bloom again.
In the Middle East, where life bustles year-round, the idea of slowing down and letting go was foreign to me. But autumn taught me that there is strength in this process. While the burst of orange and yellow hues may seem fleeting, their beauty is in their briefness, reminding us of the short-livedness of things. People celebrate these colors, not realizing that soon, those same leaves will fall, leaving the trees naked and bare. It’s a cycle that mirrors our own lives—moments of vibrancy followed by periods of quiet contemplation and rest.
As I walked through those early autumn days, I realized that the seeming gloom and cold were not an end but a transition. The bareness of the trees was not their death but a sign of preparation. Autumn, with its shades of orange and yellow, reflects the rhythm of life. It reminds us that change, though difficult, is necessary. The trees may look empty for a time, but beneath their bark, life continues, waiting for spring. And so it is with us—we endure the colder, quieter seasons, knowing that, eventually, warmth and growth will return. (Contact: [email protected])
by Joe Larano Jr.
