I like the turn from warm to cool. Fall, more than spring, makes me think of fresh starts somehow. I suppose it has something to do with my memories of school — how a new notebook and a fresh pencil can make every possibility possible. I love jackets and coats, wool socks and sweaters, curling up in front of a fireplace to read, sew, or watch a movie — I love big pots of soup and chili on the stove. I love to sit with an idea and think a while, with no sun beckoning me out of doors. There is no season so romantic and for some reason, no season that makes me more eager to hunker down and work.
But damn. There comes a time when my skin is parched and dry and too pale for even the likes of pale skin lovers, when all the recipes for heart and soul warming soups are exhausted, when the sweaters have grown limp and tired and need putting away, when I’m tired of dreading going outside because I don’t want the chill to get under my skin and wrap its metallic fingers around my bones, when I’d rather set fire to my parka rather than put it on one more time, when I need some space and air and a breeze instead of close quarters and gusts. There comes a time when I need a sliver of hope that I will see the sun shine again. By this time of the year, I’ve usually all but forgotten that it will ever come out and that I’ll soon be lamenting the hot, sticky, heat.
Then the turn comes. Finally.
This isn’t a post about the weather. Not really. Only one about there being seasons, in some way, to every situation. Micro or macro, they’re there, just as there are temperatures and colors. I am in a cool, grey/blue phase right now, for instance, incubating ideas and trying to take life as slowly as it will allow. Will my pink, orange, and red return as the days grow longer? Tick tock.
Tick tock indeed. I am not unaware of the season of my life. I’d say I’m somewhere in mid-July at the moment and I’m on my way back from vacation. Heat both rises and bears down, asking for permission to take up residence in my belly. I prepare to reach toward it from my head and my toes and to soak up all the inspiration it offers. The turn. There is always the turn.