Flow, don’t fumble, into Fall.

by Nora Hill, Inner Fire Yoga Teacher and Writer

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”―Albert Camus

Fall is a time of transitions. The smell of sunscreen and chlorine fades sweetly as newly sharpened pencils take the seasonal stage. We let the taste of watermelon and popsicles linger while simultaneously anticipating the apple cider and pumpkin bread.

This autumnal shift is a delight for the senses; a touch of melancholy for the long days of summer being no match for the exuberance of the season. 

With our schedules becoming more structured, if not chaotic (let’s keep it real between friends,) it is easy to leap into the closing few months of the year only to find ourselves back in the proverbial, unglamorous grind. And what fun is that? 

Thankfully, Fall offers us some practical and energetic wisdom as the green leaves reveal their warmth in red and gold hues and the chill in the air invites us not only to explore but to slow down, gather, and hit ‘refresh.’ The season offers us an opportunity to reconnect to the present moment, ourselves, our environment, and our hearts. A clean slate.

Transitions between poses are crucial from a basic safety perspective. Between holding Warrior I and moving into Warrior II in the Inner Fire Flow sequence, we can check out and attend to our grocery lists or plans for the next three weekends. But if we leave here and now, we can lose alignment both in our bodies and minds. 

These moments in between are necessary for this alignment so we can pause and invite a mindful body and brain scan. 

But let’s start with our body before I spin out on existential musings.

Some days, we charge into a pose before we notice that something is off. Perhaps the foundation for Warrior I, our feet, is too narrow, which affects our balance. We ‘correct’ our position by heel-toeing our leading foot a bit wider for some stability and carry on. But this comes at the cost of fewer breaths to truly be in Warrior I. 

I understand the human impulse to balk at the idea of planning and structure, but might it be wise to place an intention for our body placement before we move into different poses as well? 

When we imagine how we want a pose to feel and recall how we can invite that ‘just right’ sensation, we begin the process of visualization, which is more than a metaphysical, ‘woo-woo’ concept. Mental rehearsal of a movement activates the same regions of the brain as physical movement does. Visualization can also increase the speed someone learns that movement (skill,) and has been shown to increase muscle strength and overall performance in many capacities. With this rehearsal, our body can try on a new shape in advance. So rather than correcting a pose, we can flow and arrive in it. Perhaps with a new perspective?

Repeated visualization can help us reroute patterns of movement over time (dare I say behavioral patterns as well.) We typically associate this ‘muscle memory’ with an ability or skill that is learned (by the central nervous system) and retained, typically quite easily.  More recently, this idea has been extended to memory that resides at the cellular and molecular level in skeletal muscles and the brain. 

But before we head into manifestation territory, let’s choose a short sequence you could do in your sleep? Perhaps the transition from Crescent Warrior to Warrior III in the IFF sequence. 

Consider how you typically navigate that transition, are you a launcher or a stepper (much like the pantser versus plotter debate for writers?) 

Then set yourself up to try this. . .really. . .if you’re in public, so much the better.

Starting from tadasana, take a moment to breathe. Feel your feet. Splay your toes. Soften your jaw, drop your shoulders. From here, imagine your ideal shape for Cresent Warrior:

Ribs tucked.

Feet separated on train tracks rather than skies.

Front knee over ankle.

Right hip pulled back.

Left hip pushed forward.

Perhaps a microbend in your back knee for extra engagement.

Now here’s the trick. Let’s choose just one of these to pay attention to, maybe the one we habitually correct in the mirrors. I want us to maintain your breath and focus. 

After we have a solid image scrawled on our mental chalkboard, we can consider our transition (the visualization is part of it,) inhale, and go for it. 

Land. Exhale. Notice. Notice that one adjustment. Inhale. Exhale.

Same idea for moving into Warrior III. But perhaps we choose the method we wouldn’t typically use. Then come back to tadasana. 

Inhale. Exhale.

How was that? 

As we practice, we can allow this new habit of awareness and visualization to harness and cultivate our focus. 

I know this sounds like a lot of work, and it is. There’s a ton going on. We may need to flow more slowly through our asanas. Let’s enjoy the ride.

As I sneakily mentioned before, could we apply this practice off our mats?

Before we get out of bed in the morning, could we pause to notice something, anything. Hey, we woke up today, that’s great news. If we then put pants on, it’s even better news. Could we pause to really enjoy the aroma of our coffee before that first sip? Appreciate the shape of the warm cup in our hands, all the hands that have touched the beans along their journey into your cup. 

We are always in flux, emotionally, mentally, and somatically. Much of our yoga practice and our lives are spent in transition. So why not put as much care into the transitions as the ‘big’ events of our practice and life? 

Could we extend the idea of inhabiting transitions to ourselves, pausing to mentally rehearse or check in before we rush to ‘fix’ ourselves or someone else? 

This doesn’t have to be fancy. I don’t know about you, but I frankly can’t handle much that is fancy anymore. So let’s keep it simple. Could a pause as a transition be as straightforward as taking a few breaths with a hand over our hearts? This basic gesture will cue our bodies, brains, and minds to slow down. And back to that body memory concept, our bodies will remember what this cue means, as your parasympathetic nervous system cheers off stage. 

At the studio, could we really pay attention to how savasana feels and how those sensations move through our bodies as we leave class and go about the rest of our days? When do we notice the savasana state of mind is momentarily forgotten, but not lost, in the hustle of life? How do we remember it at will?

The change in season is an invitation for us to wonder. To revel in all the delights of the fall foliage, harvest, and change of scenery in so many ways. Let this impermanence open us up to the inevitable plot twists that arise. In life, as in nature, the seasons continue with or without our input. How wonderful is that? 

Let’s allow the cooler weather to coax us to slow down. To choose people and situations that restore and nourish us (you’ll naturally do the same for them too.) This chance to regroup is precious, to reflect, acknowledge, appreciate, and imagine what could be in 2026. There is so much glistening potential to be found in this stillness. All growth-mindset stuff. 

Transitions are invitations to begin again. Like every exhale. Like every crinkled leaf. What is savasana, more than a little death, but really a pause. Create meaning and a satisfying human experience. How else can we handle uncertainty unless we cultivate appreciation, love (compassion + grit) and wonder with touch of humor? 

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar." 

— Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing