I’ve been ungrounded. Flighty, perhaps. Finding it difficult to name, own, and process my emotions. When my husband is overwhelmed, he goes into productivity mode. When I’m overwhelmed? Full burrito mode. Hence, almost all of his belongings are packed into boxes and stacked in the garage. He has a plan. He’s making things happen. Me? My office, my room, and all the rest of my belongings are a physical representation of my mind: scattered, unorganized, and just. too. much.
So what do I do? Distract myself. I decided to sweat out my emotions by sitting in the spa. Looking around, alone in my backyard, I watched the oak tree slightly sway in the wind. The leaves, crimson red, looking extra bright against the stark contrast of a gray and cloudy sky. “That’d be a beautiful painting,” I thought. Maybe That will be my next distraction.
The sensation that really stands out to me, though, is the smell of autumn leaves. It’s enough to bring my mind back through time, back through all the falls, the end of the year, my birthday. Why am I always depressed on my birthday? A question for another time, surely. I’m not positive I have the capacity for that one today.
Instead, I’m looking at this tree, smelling this familiar and comforting smell, feeling just a touch of cold on my skin that sits above the water. Those leaves are gorgeous. They’re amazing. They started as just little tiny buds and evolved through the spring and summer seasons. That took energy and time… and yet they’ll all fall away. Every red, beautiful leaf will fall, turn brown, and be transferred back into the earth.
In a moment like this, it is very difficult for me to appreciate the time I’ve gotten to admire the tree. Be protected by its shadow. Reaped the benefits of its pure existence. All I can think is… if it’s going to disappear anyway, what was the point?
It’s hard to see through the fog when you’re in it. Hard to embrace the winter when you know it’s going to be miserable and draining and taking everything you have to just… get out of the damn bed. But every year… fall comes. And the things that tried so hard to thrive… they just die anyway. And they do it year after year after year.
I hope my next season(s) are productive. I hope that despite losing my leaves and having to start over… that my roots will grow deeper and I’ll grow stronger and more resilient. But, fuck. This winter? This winter is going to be a doozy.
Lunar Lilies 