Autumn means apples. No pumpkin spice here, and I’m trying to embrace my immediate experience. Working with what I’ve got.
So it’s apples, and Neil Young, and Tom Petty. That is life, right now.
(Vulnerable spots in my life call for music from my parents’ generation, even if it’s music my parents never listened to)
There is a certain quality of afternoon light this time of year. A warm, mellow, golden autumnal glow.
There is a way the light filters down through the trees, like all the energy and activity of a whole year stored in branches and roots and bark, suddenly burst forth in sunshine yellow brightness.
There is an excitement to this season of slow death. A vibrancy of newness and transformation.
* * *
Or hadn’t you noticed? Had you been too anxious, caught between a heavy past and an ambiguous future, limbs shaking and guts stripped bare? Had you been so nervously casting your wide net, trying to catch that glimmering, shimmering thing off in the distance, that you failed to see the gentle ripples you’d been making had turned to violent waves, arms thrashing, and you about to go under?
Me too, Friends. Me too.
Remember when I was on about what would it even be like to have a springtime birthday? Turns out an Autumn birthday is pretty rad, too–costumes and all.
All apples and twigs, brown paper and cornbread with chilli. A crisp, sunny day in the park.
Plus owls and monsters (can’t forget the owls and monsters).
* * *
Happy birthday, Oliver. Today you are the main character.
Last Sunday I went to a birthday picnic, in woodsy canyon area. A very summery event, indeed, complete with grilling, cocktails in mason jars, chips, dips, and coolers of ice. I wore a light summer dress, it was a good time.
Aaand…I’m ready for summer to be over. Come fall, come crisp air and flaming leaves and soft layers and new expectations.