Sunday, September 29, 2013

Breathing Autumn

My favorite season is sneaking around the corner, putting out tendrils of cool wind and scratching leaves. It makes me wish for that northern town...




But there is no chance of giving them my money anymore. It's hard, standing up for what is right...surrendering what you want for what is best. So I look at the local horizon with its green turning to brown without the pleasure of the colors so many enjoy.  Perhaps a trip to Lost Maples in a few weeks...

The hours roll by, trying to keep the house quiet as he sleeps off an overnight assignment. A few more hours and he'll wake up hungry - the venison tenderloins should appease that beast - and then an evening walk with the dogs and it all begins again...

I've been trying to find the small, good things in life lately...simple pleasures and just taking care of things that need cared for...planning, storing, editing...it is something to do with the hours that pass and more useful than paying attention to the world at large. I suppose it is a kind of acceptance. This is as it will be and my part in it is marginal at best. I have nothing to do but to care of me and mine anymore.

It is a bit cyclical, I think - a kind of seasonal repetition of spring-like hope, endless summer disbelief, autumnal acceptance and wintry desolation. I know there is a word for it - that being on-duty for so long that your nerves ache and you get complacent. It wears you down, all that thinking and analysis - the preparing and planning...the lists get longer, the checks smaller, and you just want to throw it all aside as so many in the world are - you see people getting away with it, for now. Blithely wandering through the chasm as though nothing was crashing through behind them. I wish I had that kind of blindness, sometimes.

Instead, I worry about what is to come...of children not born and what they will face, and require. What have I forgotten? Will it even matter? Can I keep it, if all goes awry?

So I take out maps and think about days afoot, of water and likely drop spots...I consider the worst of options available to me and look about as I drive - there, a likely marker, and there a treeline to slip through...I wonder, too, why I feel so compelled...what inside this psyche drives that sort of thinking? I think of it as a long line of characters as though in a very long book...each one an aspect of Me, and lending its abilities and flaws...which ones lie and which are true?

I take a deep breath of the colder air and it puts a dozen chores in my mind. The switch of gear, and gears. It will be a colder winter, they say. And I've a fire pit yet to build and wood to cut and stack...and propane tanks to emplace and fill, someday...someday...it all whirls in my mind and I snatch at each item in turn and try to pin it down to a date. But my hands ache and the grey in my hair belies the youthful face...no matter how much I plan, it is limited by my limitations. And that is what steals my sleep at night. That all of this work, all these scattered thoughts, and deliberate actions will be sealed shut with a final blink of my eyes.

Autumn comes. It is time to think of winter.

2 comments:

Feisty said...

Beautifully written, my friend.

Hugs.

Brigid said...

That was a breath of cool air, a trace of woodsmoke and longing. Thank you my friend.