For Renkl, autumn light is “the loveliest light there is” (203). The colors seem cooler and clearer, and flowers bloom beside the roads. The migrating birds fill Tennessee with different songs, and Renkl declares that fall is “the season of farewells” (204). When she was younger, fall never upset Renkl since she had her whole life ahead of her. These days, fall reminds her that her life is limited. Nonetheless, she greets the season thankfully, looking both forward and backward like the Roman god Janus.

Renkl remembers her grandmother’s “gangly, disorganized houseplant” (207). The plant was ugly, but Renkl later learned that it was a species of night-blooming cactus that bloomed one night a year, if at all. Renkl now has one of her own, as does her brother. She remembers driving to Clarksville one night because her brother believed, correctly, that his cactus was about to bloom. Renkl recognizes the irony of making such a seemingly unnecessary, polluting journey just to watch a flower bloom. When she saw the flower, however, she considered it “the flower of dreams” (210). It reminded her of her grandmother and helped her understand, for a moment, how it feels when the world is exactly as it should be.

In “Praise Song for the Back Side of the Sign,” Renkl describes how—as a child—she ignored signs warning her to stay out of certain private properties. The call of the wild was too strong; all of nature drew her.

Summer has dragged on far longer than normal, Renkl writes. The old seasons seem to have shifted, and even October is very warm. Renkl plans to buy a sprinkler to water the arid soil in her yard. Though the summer heat remains, “the light is nevertheless October light” (214), and many birds are responding to this change by flying south. Renkl watches the last of the hummingbirds.

After initially failing in her attempts to attract monarch butterflies, Renkl is excited to see swallowtail caterpillars in her yard. However, they seem to disappear; she notices that a red wasp is carrying away the caterpillars to feed its young. Renkl entertains a “raging internal debate” (219) on whether to interfere in nature and save the remaining caterpillars. This is a mistake, she knows, but she can’t help but do so. Fetching the butterfly cage from her earlier attempt to attract monarchs, she places the swallowtail caterpillars in the cage. They become butterflies and fly away from her yard, much to her delight.

In “Praise Song for Sleeping Bees,” Renkl describes how, on sleepless nights, she ventures outside to “watch the bumblebees sleep instead” (221). The sight comforts her, and she’s careful not to touch any.

Renkl recalls her great-grandmother, a lifelong Baptist who always found a way to worship. She respected the Sabbath, even when her young great-granddaughter asked for assistance with sewing. She wouldn’t “work on the Sabbath” (224), and this devotion inspired Renkl’s own ideas about respectful devotion. She teaches herself to rest as a way to respect the natural world. Now, she never fails “to stop and listen” (226) to birdsong.

In “Praise Song for Forgetfulness,” Renkl jokes about her friend, a priest, absolving her of the sin of unread emails. She thinks of squirrels who bury their food for winter but don’t recall every single food cache. She reassures herself that there are worse things “than leaving a task undone” (227).

Renkl writes that “autumn is on fire” (229) as the leaves change color in the fading light. For Renkl, this is the crow light. She remembers how her children played in this autumn light, and she can hear the children playing on these long fall evenings. She thinks about the clocks going back and how this will disrupt circadian rhythms, as animals have no idea why humans shift an hour out of sync. When Renkl takes her evening walk, she won’t hear the children playing or see the sunset.

When the damp and rain arrive, Renkl visits the isolated cabin with Haywood. While there, she reads The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. One evening, she finds her dog playing with a snail shell and, taking it from him, she’s shocked to see that a snail is still inside. Feeling that the snail may not be dead, she tries to ensure its “resurrection” (236). Placing it in a safe place, she’s pleased when the desiccated snail comes back to life. She calms herself, reminding herself not to rush the snail back out into the rain. She recalls a time when she opened a nest box and found baby birds still inside; she worried that she somehow hurt them, but she hadn’t. Eventually, the snail returns to the forest.

In “Praise Song for a Larger Home,” Renkl writes how she “struggled” (239) when her last child left home. Though it was painful, she learned that the only cure for her homesickness was to enlarge her idea of home.

Renkl criticizes the “insistent drone [and] noxious fumes” (241) of leaf blowers, claiming that they’ve ruined fall. She urges people instead to use a rake or, better still, to “let the leaves lie everywhere it is possible to let the leaves lie”( 242). They provide homes for creatures and food for plants. The results will help people forget the terrible sounds of leaf blowers.

Renkl describes the poor acorn harvest. She was hoping for a “glorious mast year” (246), a year when trees produce far more than usual, but this was not the case. She reflects on the neighborhood’s history and the neighbor who planted the oak trees, many of which developers removed during construction. Renkl wonders whether this “slow-motion devastation” (247) is affecting her plants. Some neighbors don’t like her trees or her unkempt garden, and urge her to cut her lawn like everyone else. Renkl remembers how her mother once harassed the power company because they placed a pole near the family home. Eventually, she convinced them to paint the pole green and turned the area into a patch for flowers and other plants. Renkl thinks of her family and Thanksgiving, reminding herself that, in their company, “every year is a mast year” (249).

Renkl feels unaffected by the summer solstice. Instead, she prefers to think about “autumn light.” As the days shorten, she finds herself yearning for light. She remembers how in college she took walks with her mentor, Ruth, who taught her how to “surrender to the wakefulness of aging” (253). Now, Renkl is close to the age Ruth was when she was Renkl’s teacher. Rather than a surrender, she thinks about a temporary ceasefire. She now thinks of rest as “a form of waiting” (254) in which she’s preparing for whatever may come.

In “Praise Song for Dead Leaves,” Renkl writes about the leaves on the beech trees. She writes about the moon lighting the night and the leaves on the path. She feels like she belongs in this place.

Renkl notes how walking through her local forest in December can feel like a confrontation with “the inevitability of death” (257). The understory at the park has died away, revealing the landscape. The birds are quieter, and the world seems “mournful” (258). Renkl remembers her deceased relatives and her own experiences with doctor’s visits (which, thankfully, haven’t led to anything serious). While she was waiting for results, however, she felt as though she must confront her mortality. Renkl thinks about Keats, a poet who addressed such subjects, and assures herself that her woodland walks are also an opportunity to “contemplate immortality” (259). Given how much death surrounds her, she says, something always comes next. December reminds her of the fine line between life and death, but also that this membrane is permeable. She believes that “there will always be a resurrection” (259).

Winter has nearly arrived, and Renkl awaits the first hard freeze of the year. Nearby, another builder has torn down an old house to build a modern one in its place. After the construction workers leave each night, the crows come to inspect the site. The chattering bluebirds, Renkl says, look like they, too, “are planning for the future” (262). Renkl often talks with Haywood about downsizing by moving to a small cabin in the woods. However, many of her memories are tied to this house and this place, both happy and tragic. She also thinks about her “wild neighbors” (263) and what would happen to them if she went elsewhere. Instead, she finds herself thinking of what springtime will bring. Inside, she feels something like hope.