The Alchemy of Mid-September: A Seasonal Descent into Shadow

Every mid-September, the air changes. Not suddenly, not violently, but with a subtle shift you can feel deep in your bones. The sun drifts lower, its light softer, less forgiving. Shadows grow longer, stretching across lawns and fields. Leaves loosen their grip on branches, trembling in the wind before they fall. Even the wind seems quieter, carrying a hint of smoke and harvest.

And in this season, I notice the stirring inside me, the same stirring every year.

A pull inward. A quiet insistence that I turn my gaze toward the corners of myself I usually ignore. The questions arrive like an old tide returning, persistent and raw: Am I living my truth? Am I honoring my soul? What is ready to die so that something new may live?

It is not discomfort I feel, exactly. It is reckoning. It is shadow season.

Walking Into Shadow

Shadow work is not neat, nor polite. It does not arrive with instructions or timetables. Some years, it whispers in the quiet moments, tugging at the edges of thought. Other years, it storms through, rattling windows, shaking up the certainties we’ve held too tightly. It comes to remind us of what we have buried, avoided, or denied.

I remember one September, walking along a misty riverbank, watching the first leaves of red and gold drift onto the water. I felt a grief I hadn’t named pressing heavy against my chest. It wasn’t a single loss; it was the accumulation of all the losses I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. Choices I had regretted. Words I had left unsaid. Paths I hadn’t dared to take. And yet, as I stood there, I realized something sacred: sitting with shadow does not destroy us—it initiates us. Shadow work is the act of befriending what we’ve exiled: our anger, our shame, our grief, our longing. These are not our enemies, they are teachers. Each shadowed part of ourselves carries a message. When we resist, we suffer. When we attend, we are transformed.

Pictured: Flower tending to her shadow. Photographed by: Jen Maloney

The Crucible of Alchemy

Alchemy is the language of transformation. It is the steady fire that distills and purifies. It is not the raging fire of destruction, but the holy, intentional heat that turns lead into gold.

Mid-September offers us a natural crucible. The questions, doubts, and unrest are not punishment, they are raw material. Every uncomfortable thought, every restless night, every small ache of longing or fear is part of the process. They are the ingredients for transformation.

Last year, I spent an entire afternoon with my journal, writing letters to my grief, my ambition, my desire for freedom. I thanked the grief for the compassion it had birthed. I asked my ambition why it felt hollow, and I asked my longing what it truly sought. When I read back what I had written, I felt fire and release at once. The act of acknowledgment had begun the alchemy.

Nature as Our Mirror

Nature is the truest teacher in this season. Trees shed leaves without struggle, trusting the process. Fields are harvested, cleared, and left to rest, understanding the necessity of fallow time. The Earth does not resist the dark; it embraces it.

I like to take early morning walks in the mist, noticing dew clinging to grass, the quiet hum of spiders’ webs, the subtle aroma of earth and decay. I notice my own body’s tension, the quiet ways I’ve held onto things long past their usefulness. The alchemy happens naturally: observation, presence, surrender. Shadow softens. Questions transform.

The Equinox as Mirror

The Autumn Equinox is a literal and symbolic point of balance. Day and night, light and dark, held in perfect symmetry for a fleeting moment. Nature whispers: Do not fear the dark. It is part of you. Balance is not choosing one side over the other, but embracing both.

I often light a candle during the equinox evenings, taking ten minutes to reflect on what I have cultivated, what I have released, and what I am ready to transform. Sometimes I let my thoughts drift freely, sometimes I speak to the shadow parts of myself. I ask them: What do you need from me? How can we work together? And then I listen.

Shadow is not the opposite of light. It is the doorway to it. Every doubt, every fear, every unexamined desire is an invitation into this sacred process.

Personal Anecdotes: Lessons from Past Septembers

• One September, I noticed how stubbornly I resisted asking for help, how I carried burdens silently. Sitting with that shadow taught me humility and interdependence.

• Another September, I grieved for choices I had made in love and friendship, and discovered forgiveness is alchemy itself—the turning of hurt into wisdom.

• One year, I felt restless in my work, doubting my purpose. In sitting with that shadow, I realized that clarity often emerges not in action, but in patient reflection.

Each year, the patterns repeat. Each year, I face different layers, different questions. And each year, I am reminded: the process is sacred. The shadow is sacred.

Reflective Practices for Mid-September

To engage with shadow and alchemy this season, consider:

1. Journaling: Write letters to the parts of yourself you’ve ignored or denied. Ask them what they need, what message they carry.

2. Nature Observation: Walk outside and notice how the Earth is releasing. How can you mirror this letting go in your own life?

3. Candle Reflection: Light a candle and spend ten minutes contemplating what you are ready to release and what you are ready to transform.

4. Meditative Breath: Sit quietly, breathe deeply, and imagine your shadow as a warm, transformative light. Allow the breath to move the heaviness within you.

5. Harvest Offering: Gather something from your life—an old habit, a thought pattern, a physical object—and offer it symbolically back to the Earth.

   
   

An Invitation

If you find yourself restless this season, know it is not accident. September calls you inward. It invites you into shadow and into alchemy. It asks you to sit with your questions, to tend to your grief, to listen to your longing.

Do not fear this work. It is not punishment. It is initiation. It is the turning of shadow into gold, of darkness into understanding, of questioning into wisdom. Every layer we shed, every shadow we meet, every moment of reflection, brings us closer to the radiant, whole self waiting to emerge. And so I step lightly into mid-September’s threshold, aware of my shadow, honoured by it, ready to be transformed. Because in shadow, in descent, in the quiet questioning of our hearts, we find the fire of true alchemy—and the light that will rise anew.

As the leaves fall and the light softens, may your heart find rest in the questions, your spirit find wisdom in the shadows. I’ve created a Harvest Basket of offerings, a free digital gift to help you sit with this season, reflect, and transform. Claim it here.

Shadow is not the end—it is where your light begins.

xoxo, Flower