fall is a reminder that change is inevitable. all those leaves and petals and blades of grass-- spring's masterpiece left to expire like week-old produce tossed out in the alley of the local grocer. does it really affect us-- knowing everything cycles back around. that if we wait long and patiently enough, everything will be replenished again.
I gravitate toward the signs of fall much more naturally than any other season. late winter and a good part of the spring in New England, are rather bleak-- damp, cold and gray. and summer is so rushed with trying to get all one's socializing done, so that when it does come time to hibernate, it feels like a nice break---ah! yes, solitude. I tend to write new material in the winter months, because it's more appealing to stay inside and warm than to have your body ache from the below freezing temperatures, the consistently wet outerwear, and from tromping through the piles of snow drift to get anywhere.
these fall days have been the perfect cure to whatever has been ailing me the better part of the year. I sought a change, and surely have found it. now I sit each morning recording the ways the sunlight casts differently on the eastern and western sides of my house, the variety of hues found in my yard trees, and the types of critters that scurry about gathering and storing. two weeks ago there was a mischievous groundhog in my kindling box, poking his head up and down to see if anyone saw him, that looked to be enjoying the day about as much I was watching him, over the top of my book cover.
I feel synchronized to the New England seasons, like laughter to a sense of humor. to know me would be to know what the soil in a hay field feels like underfoot, the sweet scent of fermented and forgotten apples, and how a leaf so fragile can turn to dust and be blown away like it never even existed in the first place. I'll tell you, it's a magical feeling-- to be part of something bigger.