Autumn

  The constant water flow over rounded granite boulders softens all my rough edges too. Rock Creek, in the eastern Sierra Nevadas, is my favorite place in the world. This is where I feel the most connected to God, to the nature spirits, to my own true spirit – my soul – my individual self.

     Snow dropped last night opening up the sky today for sunshine and cool breezes. Pines hold white tufts gently melting, dripping with the weight of water and the air dances in wisps and flurries, nudging the snow into the air creating a fine dusting. I raise my face to the sun and catch the powder on my eye lashes.

     There’s a stand of aspens tucked among the pines; hardly noticeable throughout the year except for the fall. That’s when they erupt with reds, burnt oranges, and yellows so bright they shimmer. They take on a personality that screams in joy, “I’m here!”

     I grew up blending in as a muted color not unlike a shadow. I was the one at the end of the choosings for team members or partners. Well, I wasn’t athletic anyway. I stood closest to the wall during those excruciating dances offered to the junior high schoolers. High school – I just kept quiet so the teachers wouldn’t miss me when I cut. And young adulthood – I was so used to blending in un-noticed that I would slip in and out of parties thinking people wouldn’t even know if I attended or not.

     But now I’m in a time of my life where I might like changing my colors. I might like being noticed a little for that inner beauty I recognize in everyone else. I’m in the fall of my life. I’m just beginning to change colors, albeit my reds are blotchy skin, my yellows are toenails gone bad, and my burnt oranges are more the pain radiating from my worn back.

     Fall is that last oomph of energy expended to say I am here; alive, vibrant, with a certain measure of wisdom from half a century or so worth of experience. Like the aspens, we’ve been through some rough winters but spring always comes and summer takes the hard memories out with the sun and the heat.

     I’ve been dormant throughout the seasons like a pine nut sleeping within the scales of the woody cone. The seed drops to the earth and the soil grabs hold and pulls it down for the magic to begin its growth. Awakening in the spring, the germinating seed is ready to burst through to the sun – growing – growing into a sturdy stem, knowing its existence, justifying its presence, and spewing its belief in itself with blooms of vivid colors. Once the pollens are spread and the nectars exude their delectable fragrances the emotion begins to wither away, die back, and reverse its out burst of static and chaos. The fall comes on over night and the colors change with that last blast of I was here! Everything is folded back up into the winter cover of sleep – deep sleep.

     Our children have left. My husband and I are comfortable partners but I do sometimes feel left behind. It's like my mothering, my previous definition of being has been set aside like an old reference book only to be picked up now and again for a quick brush up on something forgotten or not quite quilted into the fabric of their emotional layers and so a quick check in will do to help bind the lapse of confidence or trust or faith in whatever they are doing.

     I know I’m in a good place. I don’t mean to complain, it’s just different, uneasy, like hiking through the forest on freshly dropped snow, and I’m unsure of those occasional steps that might twist an ankle or find myself suddenly sinking up to my knees.

     Now that they are off in their own lives I have a future to make new dreams with. My dreams extended only to when they were up and out. It was always about their potential, their future, their well being. But somehow, for me, I never concentrated on what I could do in this season of my life –this autumnal change.

     I have found that my writing has taken on new meaning. I’m thrilled with the time I have for that although I wish for more. There’s my first dream of what the future could bring – me writing all day or as long as I like without interruption. Perhaps when I retire…

   And the water keeps flowing, constant, swirling, reshaping, feeding, soothing my overactive mind and taking the remaining rough edges of my psyche and offering them up to the canyons and valleys of Rock Creek. It’s my time to breath, to express, and to cherish the colors of the fall bursting forth with the last hooray before sleep.

Planting seeds,

Kathy

Comments

[Claire McCormack]

Oh my God.... This is such a beautiful writing! I, of course, relate to it SO MUCH-it brought tears to my eyes. I printed it out to re-read and treasure. It's going up on my "Vision Board", which isn't really a Vision Board, but more just things that are very special and meaningful to me. Thank you, Kathy, for using such a beautiful, picturesque metaphor. You are going to get published by the right publisher so many people can receive the gifts you have to offer.

[Ann]

Ever brilliant in your Light and your words, my friend. You are such a blessing in my life.
I pray your words travel far and wide for allllllll to read again, and again, and....
I love you