1 October 2008
A lit candle sits before me, and I am grateful for the fall’s blessings. For there to be possibility, we must leave some paths; to pursue one path for a time means to leave other paths behind. It is a process, an unfolding, an evolution.
Sun breaks through rain and clouds from the morning. Scratches of royal blue background the swift masses of cloud. The wind keeps its pace, steady since the gray dawn, from muted brightness to a sky-vault calico.
Fall is here — burning leaves, raising aster. The sun wakes later and sleeps earlier. It is a season of dying that brings forth potential; in the breaking down of summer’s flush, there is the promise of spring. Winter is a time of waiting, a period ripe with expectation not yet named but nonetheless present and agile in stillness.
Life comes together when and how the universe sees fit. Certainly my choices impact trajectory and outcome, but I cannot force either along the way. There is a pace and a path, each its own. My openness, willingness, and choice factor into the entirety.
I would like to take this conifer with us when we move. It is a few years old. The landlord plans to dispose of the plants in the garden, so it would be permissible. There are some annual flowers I can try to transfer, maybe to a grave at the sisters’ cemetery, or for a newborn whose name wears away on a frail wooden cross as a marker. Maybe the latter is best; yes indeed.
I must figure out a ceremony for the garden, really for the plants and critters who’ve resided here. They will be killed and/or displaced. I wonder about transferring the sod if we could lay enough dirt where there is now stone on the terrace at the new house. Maybe I can use the limbs of the two other small trees for something. It’s a shame just to throw it all away.
I am grateful for slight warmth from the sun between cloud cover that doesn’t linger long. The patio still gets some sunlight though less with the earth’s axis tipping the northern horizon further from that star’s angle. The lawn (garden and patio) faces north, and the sun strikes after midday when it reaches southwest. If there were no heat from sunshine I would not be sitting here now; the wind would chase me away.
Post updated: 28 January 2009.
Falling by Melissa Dey Hasbrook is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
