Subtle
Autumn is subtle.
The change from summer to autumn is so subtle.
One day the midday sun is beaming brightly and powerfully over you. You promise yourself you'll notice the change from summer sun to autumn sun.
And then you step outside and realize you missed it.
It changed.
The summer sun is gone. Autumn sun has arrived.
But when? How? You promised yourself you wouldn't miss out. You'd take notice. You'd be present.
But now you're outside and the sun isn't shining as brightly as you felt it the day before. Or so it seems.
You missed it because it snuck upon you. It slowly crawled in without announcing its arrival. That subtle change.
It wasn't loud. It was quiet. It was gentle. It was subtle.
It starts with the power of the sun. Bright, powerful mid-day rays subtly disappear.
And then the leaves. You know it will happen. You know they will lose their life, their green goodness. And you promise yourself you won't miss that transition either. Because it's so beautiful. The gold, the red, the orange. You won't miss it.
And then you step outside and realize you missed it.
It changed. It wasn't loud. It was quiet. It was gentle. It was subtle.
We want the loud announcement that change is coming. That it's happening. That it will happen. But maybe change is subtle and we miss it because we're looking and waiting for the wrong signals. We're stepping outside and looking for big and loud, but what we're given is small and quiet. What we're given is subtle.
Subtle is gentle. Subtle is quiet. Subtle is a gift.