The Threshold of Autumn: What is Anchoring You?
The Tending arrives four times a year: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. It is a space to think alongside, to stay in genuine relationship with what is unfolding, and to tend to the questions that matter between the moments that bring us together. If this letter found you at the right moment, you are warmly invited to subscribe and to pass it on.
How are you, really?
Are you feeling energised after summer? Depleted? Somewhere in-between?
In the Northern Hemisphere, there is a distinct shift in the air right now. In London, the intense heat of summer has finally broken, rain has returned, and the sun-baked soil is breathing a sigh of relief. But beyond what we can see, September carries a subtle, unspoken friction. We find ourselves caught in the tug-of-war between the visible urgency of Doing, and the invisible, restorative space of Being. On one hand, nature whispers an invitation to slow down, turn inward, and protect our energy. On the other hand, our human systems demand an immediate acceleration; teachers, parents, students, and leaders thrust into the frenzy of a new season, urgently needing energy they may not feel they have.
A few weeks ago, our team gathered online for a KMD Circle. We started casually, noting the weather shifting across our different locations, which organically led to a conversation about the changing architecture in our cities. We discussed how some places preserve historical buildings, carefully integrating the new without erasing the old, while other cities rapidly demolish familiar infrastructure in the name of modernisation. That observation led us to a profound insight: the visible world around us is always an exact mirror of our invisible values. What we build, preserve, or quickly tear down on the outside reflects how we relate to our history, our ancestry, and our internal stability.
As the conversation deepened, we invited each other to share an object from our space. What emerged was a beautiful contrast; some held physical objects in their hands, while another admitted, "I can't hold it," pointing instead to the sky outside. One person held a glass jar filled with beach stones, coral, and sea glass; a physical offering to a family home, making peace with change while honoring ancestral roots. Another pointed to the soft, shifting clouds outside, choosing an anchor that wasn't solid at all (a gentle reminder to stay fluid and open when life becomes unpredictable). And I found myself pointing to a collection of bird figurines gathered over twenty-five years on my desk.
Looking at those birds brought up a deep, personal realisation for me. I realised I had been collecting these figurines for twenty-five years across different countries without consciously knowing why. Birds possess an extraordinary grace: they carry a lightness that allows them to journey thousands of miles across whole continents, yet when they land, they walk on the ground with complete presence. And as they move across seasons, they never fly alone. That's the part you don't see when a single swallow crosses the sky. What looks like solitary grace is often a flock's invisible cooperation, thousands of them roosting together at each stop before the next leg of the journey. None of us carry a season alone, not really. As Indigenous botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us:
"All flourishing is mutual."
So here's the one question worth sitting with: what anchor is keeping you grounded through this shift; and who are you letting share the weight with you?
Step outside today. Breathe in the cooler air, feel the ground beneath your feet, and remember that we are navigating this season together.
Knowing to Live, Living to Know.
With care for “ALL”, Dr. Laila Marouf and the KMD Team
