Welcoming Winter & The Last Breath of Autumn

It feels like only yesterday we were honouring the autumn equinox here in Gauteng, South Africa, a place known for it sunny but dry winters.

The weather is shifting, slowly, subtly, hesitantly. We’re still getting unseasonal dumps of rain and the rumble of thunderstorms, those final sighs of summer lingering longer than expected. By now, I usually feel a distinct change: clear skies, drier air, the sun a little lower in the sky. But this year, I’m padding about in summer clothes with slippers and a jumper.

I feel like this year there is unfinished business. There’s a strange pause in the wheel.

The memory of this time wraps around me like one of the thick blankets I used years ago when my daughter was born in early May, when the air turned crisp and sharp, when we bundled ourselves in warmth and marvelled at how new life could come with the chill. But not this year. This year, something feels different.

In the northern hemisphere, early May heralds the coming of warmth, Beltane is celebrated with long weekends and the folk images of dancing around the Maypole (which I don’t think I have ever seen in person!), blooming flowers, and the rising sprouts of life in the garden and forests. Meanwhile, here in the south, we draw closer to the ancient, more sombre festival of Samhain—also known as the final harvest. It's the turning inward, the slow descent into winter’s hush.

I always loved the old English proverb: "Ne'er cast a clout till May be out." And in this corner of the southern hemisphere, it rings true in reverse—perhaps more now than ever. May is a curious in-between. Just when you think you’ve got the rhythm, it changes.

This in-between state—these shifting skies, summer dresses paired with woollen socks, guavas finished and oranges not quite ready—calls us back to something deeper. Something rooted. This is the essence of cyclical living: not just following a calendar, but noticing, feeling, tuning in. Waking up to a bright blue sky and writing under thunderclouds. It’s all part of the conversation the Earth is having with us. This is the same for our inner seasons too, reminding that our own experience is more important than what we ‘should’ feel or be doing. Listening deeper to our own menstrual cycle or inner shifts rather than listening to a cookie-cutter post on Instagram or Pinterest of what you should eat in your luteal phase. (More about this bee in my bonnet another day)

This is why seasonal and cyclical awareness is so essential. It gives us context. It helps us notice what’s off, what’s delayed, what’s changing. Because something is changing. The predictability of the seasons we knew 10 or 20 years ago no longer applies. The Earth is whispering—and sometimes shouting—that she’s in flux.

As we near the southern Samhain, I think of it not as a commercialised Halloween with pumpkins and costumes, but as a sacred time to honour what’s passed, what’s ending, and what must be laid to rest. It’s a quieter celebration, steeped in gratitude for the last harvest and preparation for the darker half of the year.

While our winters here aren’t icy or snowbound, there’s still a need for a shift; physically, emotionally, spiritually. We mark the turning of the wheel of the year not as an on-off switch, but as a gentle transition. The seasonal dates on my Cyclical Wisdom Journal and Calendars are like landmarks and guides, not rigid points, but invitations to pause, reflect, and adjust.

Journals & Calendars

Right now, in our garden, the nartjies on my tree are not quite ready, normally by May 1st, we’re feasting on their juicy sweetness. This year, they’re slow, unsure, just like the season. The avocados, however, are falling with abundance, a gift from the neighbouring tree. And I notice the prices in the shops dropping too, signalling the beginning of the nourishing season of soups, roasts, and warm dishes that draw us down into our bodies, into the earth.

I say goodbye to the last of the grapes and strawberries and welcome the nurturing comfort of root vegetables. I feel like Persephone ready and willing to return to the underworld, symbolic of our descent into rest, reflection, and inner quiet.

We don’t need to mimic the northern traditions to celebrate the spirit of this season. We can weave our own stories, our own meaning, and honour the ancestral wisdom that aligns us with our local environment and nature, wherever we live.

So, I invite you to ask yourself

“What does the shift into winter feel like for you? Not just the temperature, but in your body, in your mood, in your rhythms? What are you harvesting now?, and what are you laying to rest?

Let the season speak. Listen closely. The wheel turns gently, but it always turns.

A Final Blessing

“May I trust the slow unfolding of the seasons within me.

May I honour the past and make space for rest.

May my ancestors guide me.

May I carry their strength as I step gently into the darkness of winter.”

Here are some great journalling questions to help you shift to winter.

Listen to Your Body

• Do I need more rest, warmth, or solitude right now?

• Am I craving slower movement, grounding foods, and quiet time?

• How can I listen to my body’s needs with kindness instead of criticism?

• What foods or activities am I naturally drawn to as the season shifts?

Reflect on the Year

• What has this year taught me?

• How have I grown, healed, or evolved?

• What beautiful memories or lessons do I carry forward with me?

Practice Gratitude

• What abundance surrounds me right now?

• Who or what am I deeply thankful for today?

• In what small ways does gratitude show up in my daily life?

Let Go and Create Space

• What patterns, habits, or relationships am I ready to release?

• What emotional clutter or limiting beliefs can I let go of?

• Is it time to clear and refresh my physical or spiritual space? If so, where can I begin?

Honour Ancestors and Loved Ones

• Who do I wish to honour and remember this season?

• What legacy of love, wisdom, or resilience lives on through me?

• If I could write a letter to someone I've lost, what would I tell them about my year?

• What guidance or blessings might I ask from my ancestors?

Seasonal Living and Grounding

• How can I nourish myself with seasonal foods and mindful rituals?

• What simple pleasures (like warm tea, cosy blankets, or slow walks) feel especially nurturing now?

• How can I align my daily rhythm with the slower, deeper energies of late autumn and early winter?

for more insights see my other articles on the wheel of the year, or order your printable wheel of the year posters. https://www.ovathemoon.co.za/product-page/wheel-of-the-year-poster-south-1