Tom, I wrote before, but I have to write again. This piece has bubbled up into my thoughts at least once a day since I read it. The September thing.....I've been puzzling over it. When I was young, I couldn't wait for winter solstice, as it was the herald of the coming sun. I couldn't get enough of the sun, summer, heat. And I still love all that. However, in 2007 a sudden death of a person very special to me knocked me down in May, and it took till September for me to start finding my footing a bit. Then, as the days shortened and the darkness came earlier, I found for the first time I appreciated the quiet of the longer nights, the opportunity to settle and quiet myself as I tend to be a doer, and I still needed gentle time to heal and nurture. That winter changed me in some ways that had called for change for a long time, and I'm so grateful. Because of that I find now I await September and it's changes with lovely anticipation. I like that first evening in jeans and a fleece jacket, the first morning I build a fire (two days ago), the thicker soups, heartier cornbread, thicker robe, sheepskin slippers, the thoughts of tuning my skis and getting out my favorite wools and downs. I love walking in the woods as the undergrowth dies out so I can see the topography, the ridges that are hidden in summer. And I love the sound of the sandhills as they gather and head south. So please don't think I'm trying to talk you out of noticing the deaths that September whispers are coming. But know that I'm out here holding that hand, loving the coming of the settling time. And I had a thought today -- What is living but an opportunity to find out about dying? What is life but a chance to get to die? It kind of makes me look forward to the who shebang. Be well.
Sally, thank you for this long and lovely comment! Thank you for taking my hand. And yes, to everything you have put into words regarding September and beyond. Your note is a wonderful counterweight to the sadness. I do feel an underlying surge of energy in September that is the prelude to October (may favorite month). And your thoughts on how our attitudes about winter impact the way we feeling about fall are perfectly perfect. Like you, I'm a "doer", always on the move, always with more on my plate than I can possibly handle. Many years ago I dropped into a dark night of the soul in October, and sometime after that I learned to embrace the quietness of winter. Now I relish those long nights and lack of outdoor projects. It's no accident that I also began to revel more deeply in fall, a dying time that is also bursting with life. And I've come to embrace all of it, even the harbinger month of September, the seasonal breath of death. Your words here: "What is living but an opportunity to find out about dying? What is life but a chance to get to die?" Yes! And what if September is there to remind us of life's short sweet opportunity?
Ah your writing Tom...always stirs my soul...this line among many: "That last slice of summer slid onto my dessert plate, a final taste of hot days and cool creek water just warm enough for swimming." I feel you reaching out to each one of us to sit with you...and I am...even from here far away in a Missoula coffee shop with Santana playing...but earlier this day, a kingfisher showered the September air with enlivening notes above Rattlesnake Creek...and I think of Mary Oliver's kingfisher poem:
I feel like I just drank the best cup of coffee (decaf....) with an abundance of cream, bringing a sweet delight to my entire body. Your writing is delicious.
I'd love to sit with you, Tom. I miss you. Thanks for the crickets! They still sing here a little but the cold is chasing them away. We even have a fire going tonight
Tom, I wrote before, but I have to write again. This piece has bubbled up into my thoughts at least once a day since I read it. The September thing.....I've been puzzling over it. When I was young, I couldn't wait for winter solstice, as it was the herald of the coming sun. I couldn't get enough of the sun, summer, heat. And I still love all that. However, in 2007 a sudden death of a person very special to me knocked me down in May, and it took till September for me to start finding my footing a bit. Then, as the days shortened and the darkness came earlier, I found for the first time I appreciated the quiet of the longer nights, the opportunity to settle and quiet myself as I tend to be a doer, and I still needed gentle time to heal and nurture. That winter changed me in some ways that had called for change for a long time, and I'm so grateful. Because of that I find now I await September and it's changes with lovely anticipation. I like that first evening in jeans and a fleece jacket, the first morning I build a fire (two days ago), the thicker soups, heartier cornbread, thicker robe, sheepskin slippers, the thoughts of tuning my skis and getting out my favorite wools and downs. I love walking in the woods as the undergrowth dies out so I can see the topography, the ridges that are hidden in summer. And I love the sound of the sandhills as they gather and head south. So please don't think I'm trying to talk you out of noticing the deaths that September whispers are coming. But know that I'm out here holding that hand, loving the coming of the settling time. And I had a thought today -- What is living but an opportunity to find out about dying? What is life but a chance to get to die? It kind of makes me look forward to the who shebang. Be well.
Sally, thank you for this long and lovely comment! Thank you for taking my hand. And yes, to everything you have put into words regarding September and beyond. Your note is a wonderful counterweight to the sadness. I do feel an underlying surge of energy in September that is the prelude to October (may favorite month). And your thoughts on how our attitudes about winter impact the way we feeling about fall are perfectly perfect. Like you, I'm a "doer", always on the move, always with more on my plate than I can possibly handle. Many years ago I dropped into a dark night of the soul in October, and sometime after that I learned to embrace the quietness of winter. Now I relish those long nights and lack of outdoor projects. It's no accident that I also began to revel more deeply in fall, a dying time that is also bursting with life. And I've come to embrace all of it, even the harbinger month of September, the seasonal breath of death. Your words here: "What is living but an opportunity to find out about dying? What is life but a chance to get to die?" Yes! And what if September is there to remind us of life's short sweet opportunity?
Yes to all short, sweet opportunities!
Gorgeous, Tom. Thank you.
Ah your writing Tom...always stirs my soul...this line among many: "That last slice of summer slid onto my dessert plate, a final taste of hot days and cool creek water just warm enough for swimming." I feel you reaching out to each one of us to sit with you...and I am...even from here far away in a Missoula coffee shop with Santana playing...but earlier this day, a kingfisher showered the September air with enlivening notes above Rattlesnake Creek...and I think of Mary Oliver's kingfisher poem:
"The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your
whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?"
Thank you, Marina! Yes, the beauty and the dying, and the slick featureless water accelerating into the frothy tempest of October.
Ahh, you nailed it. Beautifully, sweetly.
Thank you, Donna!
I feel like I just drank the best cup of coffee (decaf....) with an abundance of cream, bringing a sweet delight to my entire body. Your writing is delicious.
Thank you, Sally, your words fill me. And I love cream in my coffee!
Such a beautiful sweet sadness I had to fight back tears. I love your writing.
Thank you, Saelon. Tears are good, especially this time of year. They wash away the accumulated grit--of all kinds!
I'd love to sit with you, Tom. I miss you. Thanks for the crickets! They still sing here a little but the cold is chasing them away. We even have a fire going tonight
Evelyn, I miss you too! Hope your trip was wonderful in all ways. The crickets will sing for some time yet, but it's all flying by so quickly ...