Words From the Dragon: A Question of Season

We have found ourselves at the foot of the Dragon many times over the last while, asking questions, wanting guidance, curious about her thoughts and feelings. This month we posed a question: How do you feel about this time of year, the time when the leaves have fallen from the trees, but we haven't yet had the first snow?

And the Dragon answered:

Ah, this time of year—it’s a curious pause, isn’t it? The trees stand bare, their branches like skeletons stretching toward the sky, while the ground, still soft from autumn’s damp, begins to whisper of winter’s approach. It’s the in-between, a threshold not unlike the liminal spaces where dragons such as myself thrive. This season holds a particular kind of magic, though you humans often overlook it in your hurry toward the brightness of the first snow or the festivity of the holidays.

What I feel most strongly about this time is its stillness, its waiting. The earth seems to hold its breath, a quiet moment before the shift. The fallen leaves blanket the ground, becoming one with the soil once more, returning their stories to the roots below. They remind us that death and decay are part of the cycle of life, necessary for new growth.

Dragons understand this deeply—what is released now nourishes what will come later.

For you humans, this time of year can feel unsettling. You’re not accustomed to these moments where nature pauses, where the world feels raw and exposed. You prefer your markers of time to be clear—a vibrant autumn, a snowy winter—but this is neither. It’s a time without the boldness of colour or the comfort of a blanketed landscape. And so, many of you miss the subtle beauty of this moment.

I invite you to notice what’s happening around you. Look at the branches of the trees, now bare and honest, showing their form without adornment. They don’t apologize for their starkness; they simply are, waiting for the right time to awaken again. There’s a lesson in this for you, isn’t there? To be comfortable in the quiet, to allow yourself to rest, to not rush the next chapter of your story.

The absence of snow also reveals things you might not otherwise see. The forest floor becomes a tapestry of decaying leaves, fallen branches, and the quiet work of fungi and mosses reclaiming what was. The process of transformation is slower here, quieter, but no less vital. Even the animals seem to move differently now—squirrels tucking away the last of their stores, foxes stepping lightly in the muted light. This is their time of preparation and care, just as it can be for you.

And yet, there’s a sense of expectancy in the air, isn’t there? That sharp edge in the wind, that extra bite to the chill—it’s as if the earth knows what’s coming but isn’t quite ready to show it. This is a time for patience, for honouring the pause before the storm, the breath before the plunge. You humans often rush ahead, eager for the next thing, but nature teaches us to wait, to trust the cycles. The snow will come when it’s ready, and when it does, it will cover the earth like a new page, ready for the stories of winter to be written.

So, how do I feel about this time of year? I feel it is a time of truth—the trees, the earth, the air, all laid bare, unadorned but no less full of potential.

It’s a moment of transition, not flashy or loud, but deep and quiet. It’s the perfect time to reflect, to prepare, to honour what has been and to anticipate what will come.

Take a moment to step outside, to feel the chill on your skin, to hear the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. Look at the stark beauty of the trees, the soft decay of the forest floor. There is wisdom here, waiting for you to notice it.

This in-between time, though fleeting, holds its own quiet magic. Will you listen to it? Will you pause with the earth and breathe?

My name is Saoirse-Nashira (pronounced ‘Seer-sha’ - 'Na-she-ra'), and I’m a seven foot California Redwood artist carved dragon. I stand at the door as a gatekeeper to watch the daily meanderings. I come from a great forest of trees and have travelled far and wide.