Did you know that larch trees absorb the most nutrients through their needles just as they are turning yellow?
Maybe this is one reason why walking through a field of yellowing larches feels so magical! Maybe we can feel their nourishment. Their satiety and contentment. Like a warm embrace or a gentle sigh, that feeling enfolds us… and something in us recognizes and reflects it back.
When I recently found myself amid these yellow beauties, it felt like I was swimming through a sea of liquid gold, as warm and fuzzy as the soft needles looked, still clinging to their branches. There was an energy like amber all around. I could sense a shift in me, almost palpable.
I love the symbolism here because they are receiving an abundance of sustenance at this time. And then when they are in their golden glory, full and sated, it’s a signal that it’s time to shed. To let go and rest deeply for the renewal that will surely come again with spring. They are wise, these larch trees, for they know that the deepest rest comes on the tail of fullness.
I think it’s like this for me, too, in the fall. Except that the nourishment I receive from the mountains and the trees is a medicine for the soul, and the heart. And yet I don’t always take the time to absorb this medicine all the way in. I’ve begun to wonder if this is why I tend to push through a very natural and organic desire to hibernate, and then sink into overwhelm and burnout in the winter, and it’s so hard for me to truly rest during those cold and bitter months.
I think perhaps the trees are telling me that it’s easiest to let go when the heart and soul are full, and that cycles of deep rest are not only healthy… but necessary.
Let’s take this as a moment to give ourselves permission to fill ourselves up, to rest deeply, and to let go when we’re ready.
What other guidance has nature been offering you lately?