Fall is with me now. I find that the wind sounds different, the way it rustles through the autumn coloured leaves -- gold, crimson, and that deep, warm orange. The leaves even look different, blowing in their trees, lighter and thrilled, and eager. This morning I awoke, while Michael was still sleeping beside me, to the sound of roaring air outside the open window, a soft, wet, drenched world of rain, and wind, and new weather.
As summer wanes, so come the days that have a snap in the air, not quite cold, but brisk and fresh, the burgeoning of something different that we can smell with our noses. The light of afternoon is sharper, but not revealing. And the hotter days feel uncomfortable, already foreign and out of place. There is an excitement to fall, an unpredictability, and with it the abrupt passing of summer, all of which I am constantly resisting. It is this truth about fall that prods at my old, cold memories, that change is happening all around me, whether I am ready for it or not.
Autumn represents a mystery of sorts, for even the birds seem quieter these mornings, as though they are listening to whisperings that I can't quite make out. Or perhaps they are just preserving their energy, staying warm by flocking together on the tops of roofs, out of sight, huddled and praying. The season speaks to my heart about uncertainty. There's a part of me that feels unready for what's approaching. I want to walk into a thicket of trees; I want to find a place to sleep there, far away, feel my steps sink a little, against soft wood chips and moss, run my fingers over slick, wet bark, and forget everything.
I can't seem to let go of the warmer months, the hot luxury of it, the long days, the slow, easy nights that linger, and turn into dark violets without the hint of ending. I have always been wildly romanced and intoxicated with the richness of summer. But it isn't just the weather that I miss. Times that have meant so much to me -- are gone. If I could crawl through the passage of time, I would go back to see if there's a difference between growing pains and what I feel now. I would go back to hear laughter and voices I once knew, or ones that I still know, but can't listen to anymore. I took a walk on the shore of the sea today, where we all blew in the wind and had water hang off our eyelashes, the tips of our noses, and the ends of our hair. There was so much I wanted to say, but I just haven't been able to, for lack of courage, or identity, I just can't seem to say it all.
The greatest secret is in the trees, especially this time of year. Watch the way they move, lay your hands on them at your lowest, most desperate moment. Don't be bitter, they seem to say, we know how you think.
