Tag Archives: fall

Country Morning

IMG_7781Hamden, NY. Upstate.

Honestly, I was scared when I got here last night.  So dark! A porcupine greeted us as we arrived, trundling along, his plump body and prickly quills undulating as he walked. He glanced back at us, and I quickly shut the car door in case it threw its quills at us.  Everyone else jumped out.

I lingered in the car, dreading the cold and the dark and the hectic shuffle of bags and belongings being transferred from trunk to porch and to farmhouse. Steeling myself, we got out, Buster in his sheepskin coat and me in my purple one. We headed toward the house, looking out for the porcupine and feeling safer now with the house lights on.

Julian reported that the porcupine was slowly climbing the tree in the front yard.  I wanted to see but was too scared by the all-consuming blackness to do more than take a quick glance. No sign of her.

I headed inside where I was pleasantly surprised to find it warm and cozy; the furnace had apparently been on for a couple hours. Jon and Dad began working on the fire in the wood-burning stove in the living room while Liz and I began unpacking the Thanksgiving leftovers.

I gave Julian a $20 bill to keep taking Buster out so he wouldn’t tinkle on the floor out of nervousness. “I’m scared of the dark,” I whispered, confessing my weakness. He accepted that without comment, just glad for the cash as any 17-year-old would be.

With Julian in bed before I was, I forced myself go outside one more time with Buster, turning on all three front door lights. I stood on the porch while he stretched out the leash down the front steps to the frosty grass below. I could see the stars through the trees and wished the lights were off so I could see better, curiosity fanning my courage.

Darkness stayed very close throughout the night as Buster and I camped out on the couch, close to the warm fire and its faint glow. Neither of us moved much, though I had to unzip the sleeping bag a couple times as hot flashes caused sweat to pool on my chest.

I waited until morning light had crept in enough to see the furniture outlines before slipping on Dad’s coat and stuffing my hands deep in the pockets. Not too cold outside, and I felt alive. Dark branches contrasted against light blue sky with streaks of pink and orange. I took photos while Buster meandered about, and we both kept an eye out for the porcupine. I half hoped, half dreaded to see her, but she was gone.

The chickadees across the road began their morning scold and I looked around at the many tree shapes emerging against the lightening sky. The grass felt crunchy under my feet, the frost stiffening their spines against my foot steps, the sound like breaking glass.

No one was stirring inside the house yet. I added a log to the stove and opened the vent; flames snapped and crackled as I settled onto the couch again with a cup of coffee and my journal. Fortified by the country morning, I felt brave again, knowing the darkness is really only in my mind, and that fire, and a blank page, can banish it.

Here.
In the country garden.

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The Happiness Project, Revisited

As I await winter solstice, the nights are long, and the days are short.  This is a variation of Gretchen Rubin’s truism: “The days are long, but the years are short.”

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I will remember these years, of getting the children off to school.  These high school years, when I did it on my own.  Anchored by my chair, and my journal, I have been present for them, preparing breakfast, helping to find socks, watching the time; all the while, they grew up.

I’ve been waiting to see if Matt would get up, without me reminding him again. Waiting to see if Camille made it out on time, so I wouldn’t have to threaten to drive her to school myself the next day. Waiting to see if the birds would come to rest at the bird feeder in line of sight from my chair; I pause to check them out as I write.

This morning, three cardinals came to rest on the iron table under the feeder — a bright red male, a juvenile in dull browns, and a female. How long will they stay?  I wait to see.

Sitting in this circle of light, I am glad to have been Here, Now, available to my children, and my own self, as we each face the day.

Seasons pass.
Years pass.
Eras pass.

Soon, I will not have any children left to rouse, and the mornings will be different.  But today, I’ll be grateful, for the flash of red, for the circle of light, for the honey toast crusts left on the Matthew’s plate.  All the joys, the simple joys, of being Here, Now, in this moment, in winter’s light.

“There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground, ” says Rumi.

Here.
In the garden.

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Fall Equinox: I am a Leaf

Today is the day when the night and the day are split equally — a perfect balance of dark and light. Masculine and feminine energies, creative incubation and beautiful manifestation.

Balance.

During this time of year, of course, the chlorophyll in leaves fades, taking the green with it.  Therefore, the “true colors” of the leaves begin to emerge, in rich earthy tones of red, brown, orange and yellow.  Even here in Florida.

As I’ve come into a more natural balance these past few years, I’ve been able to learn a bit more about my own true colors.

I am a leaf.
I have an edge.
An outline.
A skin.

A particular shape, held by that skin.
Hemmed in by that edge.
 
I am a container, and I am contained.
A unique chemical mixture.

Changing with the changed.


Friday morning, my son caught a ride to school with a friend.  Could this be, after all these years, the end of an era of me driving him to school? If so, what will I do with this opening, this change in the composition of my day?

Already, my heart aches a little, thinking about it — even though I am cautiously optimistic about this being a good thing.  For example, he’s a lot more motivated to get up on time!  He actually got to school four minutes early (as opposed to four minutes late, our usual pattern.)

IMG_2538So there are other questions: As I enter the fall of my life, the harvest season, what true colors will be revealed? How will I let go, like a leaf, and fall, in this era of post child-bearing years?

I would like to fall gracefully, beautifully, having served a worthy, life-giving purpose: to have nurtured my own beautiful children and allowed them to learn their own true colors.

Not that I’m ready to give it all up quite yet!  I do have the next 40 years of my life (at least!) to better learn my own true nature, and to watch, to wait, and see how my children’s colors will emerge.

Last night, at 2:02 a.m., my daughter texted me from college: “I love you Mom.” As my son left Friday, he turned and gave me a quick, kind glance. I am grateful, very grateful, today, to have two such lovely children, who are learning about themselves and what they truly value, in a loving, balanced, and kind way.

As am I.

Here.
In the garden.

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