My love affair with Autumn is common knowledge. If there could only be one season…this is it. There is a quiet that begins to blanket my world late September, early October. The air turns crisp. The wind more playful. The spectacular artistry of nature as leaves magically change their clothes in front us, then stand naked as if to say LOOK AT ME. SEE ME AS I AM.
I prefer the shorter days, the return of my lost hour, the addition of light layers. Give me Autumn’s palette. I dip into the dark greens, deep reds, golds, and browns that soothe me so.
I am most creative in the fall. I sleep better. I am most introspective and prone to remembering, turning over, examining, questioning. I’m also more contradictory. In fall, I’m more apt to accept Life on its terms. Acknowledge all that I will never understand, hold the losses, pain, injustices close, stare them down without the balm of an illusive hope to ease their existence in my life.
There is something empowering (albeit exhausting yet simultaneously relaxing) in taking Life straight up. Sort of like floating along with the current rather than swimming against it. Sure there’s a time and place to swim upstream even knowing damn well we will end up downstream. And once beaten by the river we pull up on the bank and trek upward—drenched, battered, minus a shoe, hungry, terrified; yet, we march on and upward this time through the darkening woods.