This year, the changing of seasons are really hitting me hard. Here in Boston, it’s in the high 70s one day and all 50s, all the time, the week after. I’m all like, “woah, what? no transition?” But I’m OK. Bring it on, fall.
The temperature change has less to do with fall’s effect on me. I’m actually enjoying piling on the layers. It’s become my physical armor. To protect me from the cold. To hide the grief and joy and all the emotions which I am working through.
Frost warnings aside, the actions of fall seem to be what getting to me. It’s fall’s trees shedding their leaves. It’s fall’s acorns being carried away for storing. It’s fall’s grass fading to some shade in between green and brown. It’s tough. Knowing that fall leads to a seasonal death of life as we know it. No more bluebirds in the birdbath. No more chipmunks chasing each other through the backyard.
Simultaneously though, I am finding hope in these passings. I know that the upcoming dormancy of winter must happen for life to spring forth in just a few short months. It’s a reminder that nothing is forever. That it’s a cycle. Life is a cycle. It’s not just one journey, but a series of journeys that take us places and bring us right back, still the same, but somehow changed.