Salaam Minara Family,

Heart check-in: how are you all doing?! 💛

As the air gets a little sharper and the days start bowing out earlier than they did a few weeks ago, can you feel something subtle shifting? Outside of course but inside you too?

If you’ve been around for a while, you’ll know what Autumn fans we are here at Minara.

It’s that time of year when everything begins to quiet down: summer’s overachieving energy gives way to something softer, slower. And if we let it, that same stillness can start making its way into our Salah.

We’re in Rabi‘ al-Thani now. [In Arabic, this translates to the Second or Final Spring - we love how promising this feels. Yes, this is a month that doesn’t usually get much fanfare. It doesn’t come with built-in motivation like Dhul Hijjah or the communal buzz of Ramadan. It just arrives really… pretty quietly, without any pizzaz [gotta love this word!]

But that’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?

There’s something about this in-between space - both in the Islamic calendar and in the seasons - that creates an unusual opportunity. When everything around you is winding down, it becomes just a little easier to turn inward. Less distraction, less social noise, fewer spiritual highs to chase.

What you’re left with is just you, your prayer mat, and the question: What kind of prayer am I really standing in right now?

And that my friends brings us to the friendship between khushu’ and the cold 🥶.

Here’s something mildly underrated: cold weather makes for better prayer.

When it’s dark and chilly, your body starts craving warmth and stillness. It naturally wants to settle. And that slowing down [you know the cozy layering, the hands cupped around a hot drink, the drawn out walk to the masjid] can set the perfect stage for something deeper in Salah. A different kind of presence perhaps? Not the fiery, charged-up energy you get in Ramadan, but something gentler.

Grounded.

It might just be easier to focus in prayer when everything around us is slowing down too.

Rabi‘ al-Thani doesn’t come with any obligatory fasts, or mass spiritual campaigns, or 30-day planners. Which means there’s a lot less pressure to “perform” religiosity and actually just a lot more room to actually live it.

This month, you can improve your Salah without it becoming a project. You can work on presence without turning it into a full-blown personal project involving charts, colour-coded intentions, and three types of incense. [Guilty - who me?!]

There's blessing in that obscurity. There’s room to be honest with yourself.

Seasons affect us more than we realize. In the summer, long daylight hours can make Fajr feel impossibly early and Maghreb feel like it'll never come. Our energy peaks and dips following the sun's rhythm, and when prayer times stretch or compress with the seasons, it naturally impacts our mood and punctuality.

Similarly, our circadian rhythm - that internal clock governing sleep and alertness - plays a silent role in Salah. A prayer performed when your body is foggy or tired feels quite different from one prayed with fresh mind and body. Autumn's cooler, darker mornings can gently nudge us toward more restful sleep, making those early prayers easier to face with clarity.

Then there's temperature - it's surprising how physical comfort or discomfort can pull our attention away in Salah. The chill of a late autumn morning encourages stillness and focus; sweat and heat might make the body restless during sujood or standing.

Finally, our emotional and mental mood colors the entire prayer experience. A distracted mind might flit through the motions, while a calm, present heart brings Salah alive. Recognising this can really help us approach prayer with more kindness towards ourselves and a clearer sense of how to create conditions for deeper presence.

Let's think of the seasons and our bodies as partners in the symphony of worship!

So long story short [sorry!!] there’s something practical here: the days are getting shorter, which means Salah times shift. Fajr isn’t brutally early. Maghreb arrives before your evening commute finishes. If you’ve struggled with catching Salah on time, especially during long summer days, this is a bit of a hidden gift. A chance to rebuild consistency while the bar is (temporarily) a little lower.

Take advantage of it. Build the habit now - not when you feel spiritually high, but when it's just quietly, logistically easier.

Research indicates that kind of habit tends to stick.

Next time you pray, ask yourself one low-pressure question:

Did I even try to mean it?

Not “Was I perfectly focused?” or “Did I cry at the end of sujood?”, but just: Did I try?

That gentle accountability - minus the perfectionism - can go a surprisingly long way.

And if you’re the kind of person who likes structure, we’ve added a little 7-day journaling prompt below.

May it bring you functionality and spiritual productivity.

Use these in a notebook, a note app, or the back of a receipt you find in your coat pocket. No hard and fast rules here!

Day 1: What usually distracts me in Salah? Can I do one tiny thing to change that today?
Day 2: Which prayer today felt least connected? Why?
Day 3: Which line of Qur’an hit differently today or did any?
Day 4: Where was my body during Salah? Tense? Restless? Comfortable?
Day 5: When during the day do I pray most mindlessly and what’s happening around that time?
Day 6: What would it look like to prepare for prayer just 2 minutes earlier than usual?
Day 7: What’s one moment from Salah this week I’m glad I showed up for?

The Prophet ﷺ consistently elevated small, everyday acts of worship by performing them with sincerity, consistency, and presence. He emphasized that Allah loves deeds that are small but consistent, like regular salah, quiet dhikr, or helping others, even more than occasional bursts of worship.

He ﷺ didn’t just focus on the major moments (like Ramadan or Hajj); he gave weight to the quiet in-betweens: praying on time, making wudu properly, saying “alhamdulillah” after a meal. Through his example, even the mundane became meaningful when done with intention and heart.

In short: he ﷺ taught us that spiritual depth is found in the steady, sincere repetition of the basics and for us the Second Spring or the quiet month of Rabi’ al-Thani is a wonderful candidate for those said basics.

Before we go, let us remember those who stand courageously in the face of oppression. The people of Gaza, the courageous community representing poignant forms of activism onboard the Sumud Flotilla, the young protestors seeking urgent social reform and accessibility in Morocco, those in Sudan, the Congo and everywhere else where more justice and equality is needed. Keep them in your prayers, honor their courage, and ask for their safety and steadfastness in these challenging times.

These times weigh heavy on our hearts. May our du’as bring light and relief.

Love,

The Minara Team