When the Leaves Let Go

Autumn has always been my season. There’s something about the way the light softens and the world exhales that feels like truth. The trees let go, and somehow, in that quiet surrender, they become even more beautiful.

This year, I’m learning to do the same.

Autumn isn’t about endings—it’s about trust. Trusting that what falls away was never meant to stay. Trusting that stillness, too, can be sacred. Trusting that after a long, tender pause, something will bloom again.

As a musician, this season reminds me of the space between notes—the rests that give the melody room to breathe. In life, as in jazz, meaning often lives in the quiet. When we stop filling every silence, we can finally hear what’s true.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on growth that doesn’t look like striving. Healing that doesn’t sound like noise. Love that doesn’t have to prove itself.

So, this autumn, I’m releasing what no longer harmonizes with the woman I’m becoming. I’m embracing slower rhythms, gentler light, and the lessons hidden in the letting go.

Here’s to every falling leaf, every closing door, and every rest between phrases. Here’s to the beauty of becoming by releasing.

Some things break our hearts but fix our vision.

— Billie