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Picture by Beth Bernard

A Lighter Way Week 22: What’s True? Rooted in Change

a lighter way a lighter way series beth bernard mary oliver nature retreats rooted silence Oct 17, 2026

As much as I believe in the gifts, the necessity, and the power of silence, stillness, and solitude, I find that I rarely take time for extended silence. Having recently celebrated a threshold birthday, my graduation from WTC’s Spiritual Direction program, and the fall equinox, I signed up for a day of silence at Penuel Ridge Retreat Center.

I sat with nine other women as the retreat leader read Mary Oliver’s “Song for Autumn.” In my journal, I wrote, “...whatever my life is right now, it will change—and I will call it good,” followed by, “What does it mean to be rooted even as everything changes?” That’s where I began as I watched leaves falling from the trees outside the window of the room where we gathered.

I had no agenda, just a curiosity about how to walk into my next season. The word “rooted” had been percolating in recent days, and I had written in my journal that I was entering “a season to pause, to soften, to root. To ask not ‘what’s next?’, but ‘what’s true.’” So, I went for a walk.

I left my phone, my smart watch, and my journal behind.

We had been invited to notice something during our day that we might add to a nature collage on the front porch of the retreat center. As I walked around the lake (very aware that snakes could be moving on this transitional weather day!), I noticed a very small bird’s nest in my path, nestled among the fallen leaves. I picked it up and marveled at its composition—moss, leaves, and small twigs woven together with care, piece by tiny piece. The center was perfectly hollowed out for the eggs and then the baby birds that had sheltered there. Now empty, its work done, it had fallen onto this leaf-strewn path to return to the earth. I took it back to add to our collage.

As I reflected over the day, I noticed how good it was to have unstructured time without my phone to take photos, check the weather, record bird calls, or search Google. I didn’t try to capture anything. I even left the birds’ nest behind, though I considered bringing it home! I had spent the day simply “being with.” 

I left not with an answer to my question, but with a growing sense of the truth of the slow work of God, speaking into the silence of an early fall day. Perhaps being rooted doesn’t mean holding on to what was or knowing what comes next. Perhaps it means trusting that even as seasons change and familiar things fall away, we remain held in the steady presence of love.

Practice:

  • Allow yourself to sit outside or take a walk without an agenda. Notice what is changing - shorter days, falling leaves, migration of birds, cooler mornings. Notice what is rooted - trees, grasses, weeds, mushrooms. Simply “be with” what is in the silence. 
  • In your journal you might consider this question: “What does it mean to be rooted even as everything changes?” Can you call change good?

“...essence is characterized fundamentally by being with rather than fixing problems or unveiling solutions.” Samuel Wells, Humbler Faith, Bigger God, p. 21

Blessing:

Remembering that you are rooted and grounded in love, may you notice what’s changing and embrace the turning. May the releasing and letting go in this season prepare you for new beginnings. As you listen for “what’s true,” may you rest in your belovedness. 

This twenty-second reflection is written by Beth Bernard, a graduate of the WTC's School of Spiritual Direction. 

Song for Autumn

A poem by Mary Oliver.

Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the fires that will come—six, a dozen—to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

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