Autumn Reflection ᛚᚾᛞ

Walking the Brandywine Creek trail today, I enjoyed the peacefulness and shimmer of autumn’s transition. Beech and tulip poplar leaves glowed with yellows and ambers, while a few maples and sweetgums blaze red along the water’s edge. Leaves drifted downstream toward the old mill race, carried by the current. Occasionally, a cool breeze stirred the surface, transforming the reflections of trees and sky into an impressionist painting — rippled, shifting, and alive. At times, the breeze calmed, the sun emerged, and just before the next cloud moved in, the reflection became almost perfectly mirrored.

During this fall season of transitions and shadow work, I often walk and reflecte on memories of loved ones who have died—my feelings a mix of grief and joy. Some memories surface easily, shining like sunlight on water, while others—filled with pain, guilt, and anger—are hidden deep beneath, exiled, unresolved, and patiently waiting. I now believe that it is essential to recognize these deeper feelings and handle them with compassion to help release and transform them.

Memory, much like a creek, is constantly flowing. When I look back, my view is shaped by emotions, the passage of time, and my personal perspective. The reflection shifts as I change. It's not the past itself I see, but how it moves through me — how it bends and catches the light, how it darkens and clears again.

Here, the rune Laguz comes to mind — representing water, flow, and the deep currents of the soul. Laguz reminds us that healing cannot be achieved by stopping the flow. The waters of memory must flow, carrying both the brightness and the silt. Walking along this creek feels like strolling beside my own path of growth, trusting that even pain is a necessary part of the journey toward becoming whole.

But there are moments when the present confronts the unmoving, when what is concealed refuses to be revealed. This is Naudhiz, the rune symbolizing need and necessity. Friction sparks the inner fire, the heavy weight of what must be confronted. Naudhiz reminds me that remembering is challenging; it requires honesty. Yet within this necessity, there is grace — a kind that appears when we bravely face what we've avoided for a long time, meeting difficult inner parts with gentleness rather than fear.

Dagaz then appears, rune of dawn and transformation, marking the point between darkness and light. Dagaz demonstrates that acknowledging, showing compassion, and curiosity towards the wounded inner child, who is exiled, hidden, or in the shadows, allows us to create space for clarity and understanding—between what is, what is becoming, and what could be.  ᛚᚾᛞ