Autumn: Where My Mind Finds Space
July 13, 2026 | Helen Gunn
Exploring creativity, quiet rituals and the season that reminds us to come back to ourselves
Every year, around the middle of July, I find myself quietly looking forward to the end of summer.
I know that's almost sacrilege to admit in Britain while everyone else seems to be hoping for another heatwave, but I can't help it.
I'm waiting for autumn.
It has always been what I describe as my soul season.
It's the season I feel most connected to, the one I wait for each year, and the season that inspires me more than any other. While others may dream of long summer evenings and beach holidays, I find myself longing for crisp mornings, cosy jumpers and that unmistakable feeling that the world is beginning to slow down.
There is something about autumn that has always felt a little magical to me.
The season that quietly calls me home
There isn't one single moment when autumn arrives for me. It's more like a collection of small signs that gently appear, almost as though the season is quietly introducing itself.
The first thing I notice is a change in what I crave. Suddenly, I find myself wanting hearty, warming meals again, soups and stews simmering away, food that feels comforting and grounding after the lighter days of summer.
But it's not just the food. Something shifts within me too.
As the temperature cools and the air becomes crisp, while those beautiful bright blue sky days still appear, I feel myself becoming calmer. My mind feels more spacious. Ideas seem to arrive more easily. I feel more inspired, more reflective, more like myself.
I start longing for woodland walks, where the landscape feels as though it has been painted again overnight. The same paths I've walked countless times suddenly look completely different, transformed by rich amber, copper and golden leaves.
There is something magical about walking through fallen leaves, hearing them crunch beneath your feet, surrounded by colours that only exist for a short while.
Even Rupert, my gentle Cavapoo, seems to know when autumn has arrived. The early fallen leaves are his favourite thing. Watching him chase them with such joy and excitement is when I see him most alive all year. It makes me smile every single time.
And then there is the lime tree across the road from us, which turns the most incredible shade of yellow every November. It's something I look forward to every year, a small, familiar reminder that the seasons are changing once again.
Perhaps that's what I love most about autumn.
It doesn't arrive all at once.
It reveals itself slowly, through tiny moments that ask us to notice.
I also love that autumn is a season rich in story and folklore. Halloween, Bonfire Night and ancient harvest traditions all seem to add to its magic. There is something timeless about gathering around a fire, wrapping up warm, watching sparks disappear into the night sky or hearing old stories passed from one generation to the next.
It feels like a season that has always invited us to slow down, come together and embrace the darker evenings rather than rush through them.
When the world becomes quieter, my mind creates
I write haiku in my spare time, and I've noticed that so many of them are either written during autumn or inspired by it.
There is something about the quieter days that creates space for my thoughts to wander.
One of my favourites is:
'shorter days expand
my mind ripe as apples fall
thoughts peel from thin air’
I think that little poem captures exactly how autumn feels to me.
As the days become shorter, my mind somehow feels more spacious. I notice more. I create more. I reflect more.
I've often wondered why that is.
Perhaps it's because the world itself seems to become quieter. There are fewer expectations to be outside making the most of every sunny day. The long, bright evenings give way to slower ones. I naturally spend more time reading, writing and simply being at home, cooking not because I need to, but because I genuinely enjoy the ritual of it.
The chopping, the simmering, the familiar comfort of creating something nourishing with my own hands.
Maybe it's the cooler air that encourages me to slow my pace. Maybe it's the rich colours that make me notice the beauty in ordinary things. Or perhaps it's simply that there are fewer distractions competing for my attention.
Whatever the reason, autumn always feels as though it quietens the outside world just enough for me to hear my own thoughts again.
Autumn’s invitation to slow down
Perhaps that's another reason I feel so connected to this season.
The darker evenings and cooler days seem to gently take away some of the pressure that comes with the brighter months. There is less expectation to constantly be out, making plans, filling every moment or feeling as though we need to make the most of every opportunity.
Autumn gives us permission to slow down.
To turn inward.
To spend time with our own thoughts and reconnect with ourselves.
I think there is something incredibly comforting about a season that doesn't ask us to show up in a certain way. We don't have to be constantly productive, endlessly social or always searching for the next thing.
Instead, autumn invites us to simply be.
It reminds us that our own company can be enough. That quiet moments aren't something to avoid filling, but opportunities to listen to ourselves, nurture our creativity and remember that we can be our own source of comfort.
Perhaps that's why my mind feels more spacious during this season.
Autumn doesn't just slow the world around me.
It creates space inside me too.
That's often when I write my best haiku.
It's when ideas arrive unexpectedly. When I feel inspired to be creative. When I find myself reaching for a notebook instead of my phone. When my thoughts seem to have room to breathe.
And yet, as humans, we often struggle to do the same.
September is often described as a "second New Year." After the freedom of summer, routines return. Diaries fill up again. Work, school, commitments and responsibilities begin to gather pace.
But what if autumn isn't asking us to do more?
What if it's quietly inviting us to come back to ourselves?
Nature doesn't apologise for changing with the seasons. Trees don't cling to every leaf, and the landscape doesn't resist becoming quieter. Rest is simply part of the cycle.
Perhaps we could allow ourselves that same permission.
Instead of waiting until we feel exhausted before we make time for ourselves, autumn can be a beautiful opportunity to create small rituals that support our wellbeing.
A walk without rushing.
A candle lit at the end of the day.
A cup of tea enjoyed without distractions.
A chapter of a book before bed.
Time that's protected simply because you matter too.
These rituals don't need to be grand. Their power lies in their consistency.
This is something I see often in my reflexology practice. Many women come to me when they are already overwhelmed, wishing they'd carved out time for themselves sooner.
That's one of the reasons I created my Autumn Wellness Reset package — not because I believe wellbeing should only happen when we're struggling, but because I believe autumn is a wonderful time to begin a gentle ritual of looking after ourselves.
For some women, that ritual might be an evening walk, a yoga class or ten quiet minutes with a book.
For others, it becomes a monthly reflexology session, a dedicated hour where life pauses for a while and there is nothing to do except breathe, rest and simply be.
After all, if nature gives itself permission to slow down each year, perhaps we can too.
And perhaps that's why autumn will always be my soul season.
Not because it asks us to become someone new.
But because it reminds us to come home to ourselves.
July 13, 2026 | Helen Gunn
Where to find me
I’m easy to reach on foot, by bike, or by public transport. If you enjoy a canal-side stroll, I’m located between Sale and Brooklands Metrolink stops. If you’re coming by car, there’s space for one extra vehicle on my driveway, and it’s also free to park on the road.
I look forward to connecting with you and welcoming you to the garden studio.
Contact me
I’d love to hear from you. The easiest way to reach me is by email or WhatsApp message — this means I can respond thoughtfully between client sessions. Due to the nature of my work, I’m rarely able to answer calls in the moment.
Reflexology is a complementary therapy and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.
If you have health concerns, please consult your healthcare provider.
Reflexology is a complementary therapy and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.
If you have health concerns, please consult your healthcare provider.
Our Terms & Conditions - The Fine Print
Where to find me
I’m easy to reach on foot, by bike, or by public transport. If you enjoy a canal-side stroll, I’m located between Sale and Brooklands Metrolink stops. If you’re coming by car, there’s space for one extra vehicle on my driveway, and it’s also free to park on the road.
I look forward to connecting with you and welcoming you to the garden studio.
Contact me
I’d love to hear from you. The easiest way to reach me is by email or WhatsApp message — this means I can respond thoughtfully between client sessions. Due to the nature of my work, I’m rarely able to answer calls in the moment.
Where to find me
I’m easy to reach on foot, by bike, or by public transport. If you enjoy a canal-side stroll, I’m located between Sale and Brooklands Metrolink stops. If you’re coming by car, there’s space for one extra vehicle on my driveway, and it’s also free to park on the road.
I look forward to connecting with you and welcoming you to the garden studio.
Contact me
I’d love to hear from you. The easiest way to reach me is by email or WhatsApp message — this means I can respond thoughtfully between client sessions. Due to the nature of my work, I’m rarely able to answer calls in the moment.
Autumn: Where My Mind Finds Space
July 13, 2026 | Helen Gunn
Exploring creativity, quiet rituals and the season that reminds us to come back to ourselves
Every year, around the middle of July, I find myself quietly looking forward to the end of summer.
The season that quietly calls me home
I know that's almost sacrilege to admit in Britain while everyone else seems to be hoping for another heatwave, but I can't help it.
I'm waiting for autumn.
It's the season I feel most connected to, the one I wait for each year, and the season that inspires me more than any other. While others may dream of long summer evenings and beach holidays, I find myself longing for crisp mornings, cosy jumpers and that unmistakable feeling that the world is beginning to slow down.
There is something about autumn that has always felt a little magical to me.
It has always been what I describe as my soul season.
When the world becomes quieter, my mind creates
The first thing I notice is a change in what I crave. Suddenly, I find myself wanting hearty, warming meals again, soups and stews simmering away, food that feels comforting and grounding after the lighter days of summer.
But it's not just the food. Something shifts within me too.
As the temperature cools and the air becomes crisp, while those beautiful bright blue sky days still appear, I feel myself becoming calmer. My mind feels more spacious. Ideas seem to arrive more easily. I feel more inspired, more reflective, more like myself.
I start longing for woodland walks, where the landscape feels as though it has been painted again overnight. The same paths I've walked countless times suddenly look completely different, transformed by rich amber, copper and golden leaves.
There is something magical about walking through fallen leaves, hearing them crunch beneath your feet, surrounded by colours that only exist for a short while.
Even Rupert, my gentle Cavapoo, seems to know when autumn has arrived. The early fallen leaves are his favourite thing. Watching him chase them with such joy and excitement is when I see him most alive all year. It makes me smile every single time.
And then there is the lime tree across the road from us, which turns the most incredible shade of yellow every November. It's something I look forward to every year, a small, familiar reminder that the seasons are changing once again.
Perhaps that's what I love most about autumn.
It doesn't arrive all at once.
It reveals itself slowly, through tiny moments that ask us to notice.
I also love that autumn is a season rich in story and folklore. Halloween, Bonfire Night and ancient harvest traditions all seem to add to its magic. There is something timeless about gathering around a fire, wrapping up warm, watching sparks disappear into the night sky or hearing old stories passed from one generation to the next.
It feels like a season that has always invited us to slow down, come together and embrace the darker evenings rather than rush through them.
There isn't one single moment when autumn arrives for me. It's more like a collection of small signs that gently appear, almost as though the season is quietly introducing itself.
Autumn’s invitation to slow down
There is something about the quieter days that creates space for my thoughts to wander.
One of my favourites is:
'shorter days expand
my mind ripe as apples fall
thoughts peel from thin air’
I think that little poem captures exactly how autumn feels to me.
As the days become shorter, my mind somehow feels more spacious. I notice more. I create more. I reflect more.
I've often wondered why that is.
Perhaps it's because the world itself seems to become quieter. There are fewer expectations to be outside making the most of every sunny day. The long, bright evenings give way to slower ones. I naturally spend more time reading, writing and simply being at home, cooking not because I need to, but because I genuinely enjoy the ritual of it.
The chopping, the simmering, the familiar comfort of creating something nourishing with my own hands.
Maybe it's the cooler air that encourages me to slow my pace. Maybe it's the rich colours that make me notice the beauty in ordinary things. Or perhaps it's simply that there are fewer distractions competing for my attention.
Whatever the reason, autumn always feels as though it quietens the outside world just enough for me to hear my own thoughts again.
I write haiku in my spare time, and I've noticed that so many of them are either written during autumn or inspired by it.
Perhaps that's another reason I feel so connected to this season.
The darker evenings and cooler days seem to gently take away some of the pressure that comes with the brighter months. There is less expectation to constantly be out, making plans, filling every moment or feeling as though we need to make the most of every opportunity.
Autumn gives us permission to slow down.
To turn inward.
To spend time with our own thoughts and reconnect with ourselves.
I think there is something incredibly comforting about a season that doesn't ask us to show up in a certain way. We don't have to be constantly productive, endlessly social or always searching for the next thing.
Instead, autumn invites us to simply be.
It reminds us that our own company can be enough. That quiet moments aren't something to avoid filling, but opportunities to listen to ourselves, nurture our creativity and remember that we can be our own source of comfort.
Perhaps that's why my mind feels more spacious during this season.
Autumn doesn't just slow the world around me.
It creates space inside me too.
That's often when I write my best haiku.
It's when ideas arrive unexpectedly. When I feel inspired to be creative. When I find myself reaching for a notebook instead of my phone. When my thoughts seem to have room to breathe.
And yet, as humans, we often struggle to do the same.
September is often described as a "second New Year." After the freedom of summer, routines return. Diaries fill up again. Work, school, commitments and responsibilities begin to gather pace.
But what if autumn isn't asking us to do more?
What if it's quietly inviting us to come back to ourselves?
Nature doesn't apologise for changing with the seasons. Trees don't cling to every leaf, and the landscape doesn't resist becoming quieter. Rest is simply part of the cycle.
Perhaps we could allow ourselves that same permission.
Instead of waiting until we feel exhausted before we make time for ourselves, autumn can be a beautiful opportunity to create small rituals that support our wellbeing.
A walk without rushing.
A candle lit at the end of the day.
A cup of tea enjoyed without distractions.
A chapter of a book before bed.
Time that's protected simply because you matter too.
These rituals don't need to be grand. Their power lies in their consistency.
This is something I see often in my reflexology practice. Many women come to me when they are already overwhelmed, wishing they'd carved out time for themselves sooner.
That's one of the reasons I created my Autumn Wellness Reset package — not because I believe wellbeing should only happen when we're struggling, but because I believe autumn is a wonderful time to begin a gentle ritual of looking after ourselves.
For some women, that ritual might be an evening walk, a yoga class or ten quiet minutes with a book.
For others, it becomes a monthly reflexology session, a dedicated hour where life pauses for a while and there is nothing to do except breathe, rest and simply be.
After all, if nature gives itself permission to slow down each year, perhaps we can too.
And perhaps that's why autumn will always be my soul season.
Not because it asks us to become someone new.
But because it reminds us to come home to ourselves.
June 22, 2026 | Helen Gunn