← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Early Signs of Autumn
00:30:43
Season 16, Episode 14
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Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories and ad free listening all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe Now. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone in which Nothing Much Happens. You feel good and then you fall asleep. I'm Kathryn Nicolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Seal Rescue Ireland. Seal Rescue Ireland is a charity dedicated to the rescue, res, rehabilitation and release of sick, injured or orphaned seals. You can learn more about them in our Show Notes. I have a lot more to offer you than Bedtime Stories. Did you know a lot of people don't because they're already asleep. We have a daytime version of the show for unwinding and relaxation. A 10 minute guided meditation show with over 150 episodes. Lots of fun community on our social feeds and website. And of course an upgraded version of this show with dozens of bonuses and extra long episodes. Learn more and subscribe in our show notes or at good old nothingmuch happens.com now let's do a little cognitive reshuffling. We're going to light up certain sections of your brain while we sing a lullaby to others and the effect, with almost no effort on your part, will be to train you to fall asleep more quickly and return to sleep more easily. So just listen to the sound of my voice and the gentle shape of the story. I'll tell it twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Our story tonight is called Early Signs of Autumn and it's a story about turning leaves and a slight spicy scent on the breeze. It's also about zucchini bread and hot coffees traded for iced school supplies and new mysteries at the bookshop, orange candles, shifting evening light and excitement for new experiences to come. It's night night time, friends. Get as comfortable as you can and take a moment to really be in your body and feel how good it is to be in bed to be done with the day, safe, calm, ready for sleep. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Do that again. Breathe in and let it go. Good. Early signs of Autumn. The box elder at the end of my street was turning yellow and when I saw it I thought it was much too soon. It was still August after all, and the days were plenty hot and sunny. I said as much to a friend and she reminded me that we'd had the same conversation the August before and possibly the one before that too. It's always this way, she sighed. A few trees turn early, some because it's just their makeup, and some because the end of summer dry spells send a signal to them to wrap it up for the year. I knew she was right, but still, this early sign of the coming season surprised me. And it wasn't the only one that did. There was a row of burning bushes along the country road near the lavender farm, and their deep green leaves were now crimson. The farmers market stalls were absolutely overflowing with produce, but it wasn't the tender lettuce and sweet berries of early summer. I'd brought home a zucchini the size of my arm, a spaghetti squash, and a basket of crisp sweet apples the last time I'd gone. I suspected any day now Brussels sprouts and curly endive would show up, and then would come the pumpkins. I could hardly believe it. We were at most weeks away from pumpkins, and I wasn't sad about how the summer had flown, just sort of shocked, I thought back. It had been a wonderful summer. Maybe that is what had made it pass so quickly, how much I had enjoyed it. I'd taken a watercolor class that met at the beach. I'd gone to the evening picnic and concert out at the village museum. There had been lazy days floating in the pool, backyard cookouts, and I'd read a half dozen books. At least, thanks to the long evenings and lasting light. There'd been a double feature at the drive in, bike rides and the thrill of growing my first ranunculus, tomato sandwiches and rainbows thrown from the sprinklers in the yard, naps on the porch, mint iced tea and finally writing in that pretty journal I'd had for years and been afraid to mark up with my scribbles. So yes, now that I thought back on it, they had been a very full few months. I was a little more ready to welcome what would come next, and as I walked through downtown, I saw I wasn't the only one. I turned a corner, came upon the bookstore. I stopped to look at the window display. There was a tall stack of books with their titles turned to the street, each one just a gradient of color different from the one below, beginning with green and blooming upward into yellows, oranges, and reds. Beside them were this season's crop of witchy mysteries and romances, intriguing covers showing fog and eerie houses, skeleton keys and candlesticks. My eyes went wide and I chuckled to myself, still sweating in the summer heat but very excited to get several of them onto my bedside table. A little farther down the street, the stationery shop was stocking classic black and white composition notebooks and pencil cases. From their open door, I heard a snippet of conversation between a parent and a child about how many marker tops had been lost the year before, how said markers had then dried out and had to be tossed prematurely. Still, it seemed another set was being acquired for the coming school year. Their shopping basket was full of folders and notebooks, art supplies and pencils. I had a feeling this was the usual preschool pep talk to take good care of their things and make them last as long as could be. A tale as old as time in the gift shop on the corner, I caught a distinct and familiar scent wafting from inside. Could it be? I went in and wandered the aisles till I found the candle section. Sure enough, the pumpkin candles had arrived, and among the rows of them in prominent position, one set slowly melting under a warmer. I leaned out of the aisle and caught the eye of the clerk behind the desk. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. I'm ready, she said simply. I nodded. I get it, I assured her. I checked the sandwich board sign outside of the bakery. So far, no pumpkin muffins or maple spiced scones, though there was zucchini bread, which I think is the bridge between peach pie and those autumn treats. At the coffee shop, pumpkin spice and apple cider drinks hadn't been chalked up on the board, but I noticed more customers drinking their lattes hot rather than iced. It was as if a subconscious signal had gone out through the town to start to shift course toward fall. Walking on, I searched my memory for a word I'd learned years before, a word that described the biological response plants and animals have to the subtle shift of day to night ratio. Um, photo photoperiodism yes, that was it. In late summer, as the days began to get a bit shorter, the change in light triggers birds to prepare for migration, trees to shift toward dormancy, animals to grow their winter coats, and even humans to change their behavior a bit. Appetites and sleep schedules would begin to alter. At the flower shop, a wagon full of mums with tightly closed buds sat temptingly on the sidewalk. The clothing shop had a red raincoat and yellow Wellington boots on display in the window. A sign at the bicycle shop, propped in a basket and surrounded by helmets, had a countdown to the first bike bus of the school year. Just then a breeze of cooler air blew over me and I could smell the slightest hint of dry grass spice in it. I took a deep breath and opened my arms to let the wind circle around me. We still had time to enjoy the summer. Her days weren't done yet, but when they were, I'd be ready for a change. Early Signs of Autumn the box elder at the end of my street was turning yellow, and when I saw it, my thoughts it was much too soon. It was still August, after all, and the days were plenty hot and sunny. I said as much to a friend, and she reminded me that we'd had the same conversation the August before, and possibly the one before that, too. It's always this way, she sighed. A few trees turn early, some because it's just their makeup, and some because the end of summer dry spells can send a signal to them to wrap it up for the year. I knew she was right, but still, this early sign of the coming season had surprised me, and it wasn't the only one that did. There was a row of burning bushes along the country road near the Lavender farm, and their deep green leaves were now crimson. The farmers market stalls were absolutely overflowing with produce, but it wasn't the tender lettuce and sweet berries of early summer. I'd brought home a zucchini the size of my arm, a spaghetti squash, and a basket of crisp sweet apples the last time I'd gone. I suspected any day now Brussels sprouts and curly endive would show up, and then would come the pumpkins. I could hardly believe it. We were at most weeks away from pumpkins. I wasn't sad about how the summer had flown, just sort of surprised. I thought back. It had been a wonderful summer. Maybe that is what had made it pass so quickly, how much I had enjoyed it. I'd taken a watercolor class that met at the beach. I'd gone to the evening picnic and concert out at the village museum. There had been lazy days floating in the pool, backyard cookouts, and I'd read a half dozen books, at least, thanks to the long evenings and lasting light. There'd been a double feature at the drive in, bike rides and the thrill of growing my first ranunculus, tomato sandwiches and rainbows thrown from the sprinklers in the yard, naps on the porch, mint iced tea and finally writing in that pretty journal I'd had for years and been afraid to mark up with my scribbles. So yes, now that I thought back on it, they had been a very full few months. I was a little more ready to welcome what would come next. And as I walked through downtown, I saw that I wasn't the only one I turned a corner and came upon the bookstore. I stopped to look at the window display. There was a tall stack of books with their titles turned to the straight, each one just a gradient of color different from the one below, beginning with green and blooming upward into yellows and oranges and reds. Beside them were this season's crop of witchy mysteries and romances, intriguing covers showing fog and eerie houses, skeleton keys and candlesticks. My eyes went wide and I chuckled to myself, still sweating in the summer heat but very excited to get several of them onto my bedside table. A little farther down the street, the stationery shop was stocking classic black and white composition notebooks and pencil cases. From their open door, I heard a snippet of conversation between a parent and child about how many marker tops had been lost the year before, how said markers had then dried out and had to be tossed prematurely. Still, it seemed another set was being acquired for the coming school year. Their shopping basket was full of folders and notebooks, art supplies and pencils. I had a feeling this was the usual preschool pep talk to take good care of their things and make them last as long as could be. A tale as old as time in the gift shop on the corner, I caught a distinct and familiar scent wafting from inside. Could it be? I went in and wandered the aisles till I found the candle section. Sure enough, the pumpkin candles had arrived, and among the rows of them in prominent position, one set slowly melting under a warmer. I leaned out of the aisle and caught the eye of the clerk behind the desk. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. I'm ready, she said simply. I nodded. I get it, I assured her. I checked the sandwich board outside of the bakery. So far no pumpkin muffins or maple spiced scones, though there was zucchini bread, which I think is the bridge between peach pie and those autumn treats at the coffee shop. The pumpkin spice and apple cider drinks hadn't been chalked up on the board, but I noticed more customers drinking their lattes hot rather than iced. It was as if a subconscious signal had gone out through the town to start to shift course toward fall. Walking on, I searched my memory for a word I'd learned years before, a word that described the biological response plants and animals have to the subtle shift of day to night ratio. Um, photo Photoperiodism. Yes, that was it. In late summer, as the days begin to get a bit shorter, the change in light triggers birds to prepare for migration, trees to shift toward dormancy, animals to grow their winter coats and even humans to change their behavior a bit. Appetites and sleep schedules would begin to alter. At the flower shop, a wagon full of mums with tightly closed buds sat temptingly on the sidewalk. The kitchen shop had a red raincoat and yellow Wellington boots on display in the window. A sign at the bicycle shop, propped in a basket and surrounded by helmets, had a countdown to the first bike bus of the school year. Just then, a breeze of cooler air blew over me, and I could smell the slightest hint of dry grass and spice in it. I took a deep breath and opened my arms to let the wind circle around me. We still had time to enjoy the summer. Her days weren't done yet, but when they were, I'd be ready for change. Sweet dreams.