Autumn in New England starts off slow every year. The greens of summer leaves begin to dim, and the top leaves of trees begin to turn. The air turns drier, the mornings crisper.

There's always a burst of warm weather sometime in late September before the chilly air sets in, and the rapid changes begin. Red maples turn colors that make the trees look like they are illuminated from within.

Every year, I watch in wonder as Mother Nature puts on an absolutely beautiful display.

And suddenly, in a flash - the peak color is over. The vibrant colors dim to browns and dingy yellows. The leaves begin to drop.

Everything has a slightly somber feel to it after the peak color week. There's a sadness. A mourning. Another year fading into slumber.

It's the season of mourning - the only time our culture really acknowledges Death.

As we go deeper into autumn and the world goes to sleep for the winter, we are confronted with Death in forms that are sometimes whimsical, sometimes much darker.

Halloween has a mix of both light-hearted and scary forms of skeletons, undead monsters, crypts, and tombstones.

We watch the plants turn brown. The annual plants die. The perennial plants go to sleep.

Several religions and cultural practices focus on speaking with the dead, remembering and honoring those who have passed on, and connecting with the months with more hours of darkness than daylight.

I find myself battling regrets of projects I will be unable to finish by the end of the year. I feel sad about the colors drifting away, leaving my New England home dreary as winter approaches for several dark, cold months.

But I remind myself that in only six weeks, the days will begin to grow longer again. The light will return, and the energy of growth will begin a new.

Autumn is just the season of transformation - preparing the world to grow again.

Like the memories of my loved ones who have passed on, I look to Death not as an ending, but as the fuel for a new beginning.