Transitions Can Be A Bitch

Everytime I came here to write last week, the page ate my words as I wrote them. (Or was it just that pesky  “delete” key?)

I wanted to write about how the full Harvest moon knocked me to my knees, and about how I was drowning in mountains of summer and fall clothing, each begging not to be relegated to the storage bin.  “See?  It’s still in the high 80s,” said the shorts and tees.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said the sweaters.

But I couldn’t.

I wanted to write about the new light coming in through the bedroom window now that the window AC is gone.  And how the kitchen is newly flooded with light because the canvas canopy on the deck is now stored away for the winter.

But I couldn’t bring myself to sit here and write. There was more a need to sit and just watch, without words. I needed to just listen.

Transitions demand attention.

The fall transition is especially hard for me.  I love summer and it’s a   wrench to see it fade away.  A new season, a new way of being, a quieter, more contemplative way of being is beginning to assert itself.  I appreciate that too, of course, but…

When two seasons collide like they did last week, I got overloaded. I needed to hit the “reset” button.  I had too many windows opened.  I had maxed out my RAM.

But now that the moon is waning, and the weather is getting cooler, and I no longer have to get up and teach morning yoga, I am starting to resign myself, and prepare.

And today? Today I baked an apple.