This past weekend from the window of the car; as I passed state after state heading north west; I saw the small dustings of autumn.
It wasn’t hard to miss, a few of the trees were touched slightly yellow and even more so a few days later, bushes were vibrant red and orange closer to the ground.
I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows in wonder, ah, it begins all over again. The changing. The harvest calls, and I wave back as I move towards her.
Last week, stepping out onto my parents back porch, the yard was littered with fallen leaves. It may have been the rain that caused it, but something about the patchiness of them all around and the slight sweetness in the air made me melancholy for the end of summer. The light shifted three weeks ago and slowly, ever slowly but surly, summer is brushing out her long golden hair and leaving traces of her behind as she packs her straw bags and heads elsewhere.
Astoria in the morning was chilly, and the bustle of Manhattan was hard to feel on the concrete outside of Jenyth’s apartment. I could almost breathe there, almost. But how happily I greeted the dense, humid green of Maryland again. The thick, robust, fullness of her arms. I could weep for knowing where home is.
Soon enough, as the clocks wind, and the moon changes, so too shall I. This season of growing; of standing still; of internal current and external hiccuping will move forward and exchange flip flops for brown boots.
I can feel my skin is a little tougher, the water inside a little rougher, but in every picture I look so happy it almost seems put on. It isn’t. It’s just me. Post facing the fear of losing what I thought I needed to live. And saying hello to the darkness, acknowledging her presence and inviting hers to stay with me as a guest.
I am a keeper of lost things and loose things. Sharp edges and rough edges. I am learning that I still own all that I love, and that I love things I never knew I could.
I am just fine greeting the harvest as I kiss the summer goodbye. I can say hello and goodbye in the same breathe, at the same time. I mean them both. I can live somewhere in the middle.
What wonders this season does make of me. What wonders of keeping safe in a locket on a gold chain of my own braiding.