extra ordinary things
Fall fills my heart in such a way that it feels bound to burst open – all those oranges and greens and restlessness and the smell of woodsmoke. Saturday morning found me hiding under my covers from the world, because that kind of fullness can be overwhelming. I’m not sure I can hold my chest together.But I’ve learned that left unchallenged my hiding can go on for hours, can envelop a whole morning, so I called up Julie and committed to Eugene by noon. In the truck I listened to fall music, Neil Diamond and Cat Stevens and the soundtrack to an old musical called Pippin. Pippin is what I play when I need to remember the primacy of the small and the close-by.
So I slid into the weekend: roasted carnival squash and chanterelles only hours out of the woods, a club full of costumed revelers dancing in masks and stilettos, Julie’s room that fills with Sunday morning sun. Heading north again I drove through Corvallis for a game of kickball in the park with Operaman and his kids. They buried me in leaves and there was the season all around me – leaves holding me up and leaves sticking to my sweater and the quiet atmosphere of a leaf pile filling my lungs.
Fall is a good time for crying, for being busy, for shoring up. For getting prepared while staying present. This is how it has to feel if we’re going to be ready for what’s next. I don’t know how else the geese would summon up all that will for flying, besides being certain that stillness in the fall might cause them to come apart at the seams.
posted by tortaluga @ 11:34 PM
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