What Is Your Harvest Really Telling You?
The Things That Don’t Make the List
As we move towards the Autumn Equinox and the Harvest Moon, I’ve been thinking about what we mean when we talk about celebrating our harvest.
We are often encouraged to celebrate what we have achieved — the job, the house, the money, the success, the status. The things that look good from the outside.
But I’m not sure these are the things we should be celebrating most.
We have spent far too long measuring ourselves by what we own, what we achieve, and how our lives appear to other people. I think it is affecting our mental health, our relationships, and even the world around us.
So what if we celebrated our harvest differently?
This year, my tomatoes didn’t ripen. The frost got the first little plants that I had lovingly grown from seed. And I certainly haven’t achieved everything I had hoped I would.
But does that mean my harvest has been a failure?
Absolutely not.
I’ve watched my daughter get married. I’ve spent precious time with my family who came over from the UK. I’ve watched more sunrises and sunsets than I can count. I’ve noticed the changing light, the birds, the trees,
and all those tiny moments that can so easily pass us by when we are busy trying to achieve the next thing.
Those things might not appear on a list of accomplishments, but they are part of my harvest too.
And with the Full Moon in Aries, I think of Hawk.
I’ve always connected Hawk with Aries, and it feels especially meaningful to me that this Harvest Moon is in Aries. Hawk can see the tiniest details from above, but can also soar high enough to see the whole picture.
Perhaps that is something we need to remember at harvest time.
We need to notice the tiny things — the joy, the hurt, the laughter, the lessons, the tomatoes that didn't ripen.
But we also need to rise above it sometimes and look at the bigger picture.
One failed crop doesn't mean the whole garden failed.
One difficult moment isn't our whole story.
One thing we didn't achieve doesn't erase everything else that happened.
So perhaps we should celebrate the small steps—the things you have done that nobody else may have noticed. The day you kept going when it was hard. The moment you asked for help. The boundary you put in place. The walk you took. The cup of tea you actually stopped to enjoy.
Celebrate those tiny moments when awe took hold of you — sunlight through the trees, a bird appearing at just the right moment, the moon shining through your window.
Celebrate the times you laughed until your stomach hurt.
Celebrate the friendships you made, and even the friendships you lost. Be thankful for what they taught you, without feeling that you have to carry them forever.
And perhaps we can acknowledge the things that went wrong too. The plans that didn't quite happen. The mistakes. The difficult decisions. The messy bits.
Not because we need to be grateful that they happened, but because we can take the lessons from them and then release the energy that no longer serves us.
The Autumn Equinox is a beautiful reminder of balance - Light and dark. Holding on and letting go. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
Our harvest doesn't have to be perfect.
In fact, perhaps a real harvest is never perfect.
So this Equinox, I’m going to celebrate a little differently.
Not my status. Not what I own. Not how successful my life might look from the outside.
I want to celebrate how far I’ve come. The people who have touched my life. The things I’ve learned. The small steps forward. The moments when my heart sang. The time with family. Watching my daughter begin a new chapter. And those countless sunrises and sunsets when I stopped long enough to simply be there and notice.
And then, under the Full Moon, I want to look at what I am ready to let go of.
Perhaps I can take a little of Hawk's wisdom with me — noticing the small things, while remembering to step back and see the whole picture.
Because perhaps that is the real gift of harvest — recognising what has grown, being thankful for what we have learned, and making space for what comes next.
A couple of ways to pause, notice and create
This is also the thinking behind The Sunlit Creative Path — taking time to follow the seasons, notice what is around us and explore nature and creativity without pressure.
The first session begins Monday 19 October 2026 in Deep River, with the remaining sessions following the seasons throughout the year.
There are still a few spaces available if you would like to walk this path with me.
And if following the Moon feels more like your thing, Moonlit Pause is a gentle opportunity to stop, breathe, and notice around the New and Full Moons. These are free online gatherings with a short meditation, a creative prompt, and a journal prompt.
Our next Moonlit Pause is Saturday 26th Septmeber 7am -ET, 12pm -GMT
Send me an email at daisysbutterfly18@gmail.com for the link.
Sometimes we don't need to do more.
Sometimes we simply need to pause long enough to notice what is already there.
Journal prompt
What am I ready to release from this past year — the expectations, disappointments, mistakes,
or things I’ve been carrying that I no longer need to hold?
Creative prompt
Collect three fallen leaves.
On each one, imagine writing or drawing something you are grateful for, something you have learned, and something you are ready to release.
Then take them outside and let them go.
Just as the trees do.
Letting go doesn't mean it didn't matter.
Maybe find a body of water you can drop them into, so that you can see them float away.
It simply makes space for what comes next.
If you want something you can keep to remind you of this harvest, draw or stick leaves onto paper, and then draw and write the three things on them. I like to write under the art, so that I can display the art, know what it means, but others can just enjoy the art!
Have a wonderful few weeks; enjoy watching the sunrise and sunset as the darker times begin to unfold.
Carolyn
Comments