September is the favorite month of many people that I know. Not to be outdone, it is also mine.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald
Stepping back from the classroom has meant being now inside the four walls of the trees, sky, road, and field. Not arriving at school when the sun is at hand, then disappearing inside concrete block for nine or ten hours, to emerge like mold as the sun is setting once again. No one was stopping me from going outside for a bit, but the tasks of teaching can make one forget the colour of the sky, like the oarsmen in Stephen Crane’s “The Open Boat”. I also had more days of the week than not with which to venture out, and I did – little drives to ponds and jogs past ripened grain, strolls with friends around a park, or just poking around in my little yard to see if the birches had grown.
So don’t feel sorry for me, especially not now! The day is practically my oyster, or at least it should be.
The funny thing about moving and change is the earth spins for a bit. Like when the roller coaster lurches to a halt at the bottom and you’re expected to just stand up and walk away like nothing happened and your heart isn’t still in your throat. It’s tempting to run around wildly in circles instead of calmly rejoining the slowly promenading throng.
I did a little of that, wildly spinning, and still am in ways.
A wise person in my life said, “Have a DEEPER fear of missing out”.
I had been saying that I run down every path suggested to me because I fear missing some opportunity, some important connection, some experience that might change everything. But I must have a deeper fear of missing out on my own life.
So, lately I have been attempting to figure out what brings joy. Which means recognizing what life actually feels like, for me, not for everybody else. I’m ever-so-slowly noticing – noticing that my heart doesn’t feel right sometimes when a text pops up. Or more brightly, that my soul rests for a moment holding a flower, or the hand of someone I love.
I have noticed that I don’t like attention. So putting myself out there and proclaiming all my wisdom to the world is coming off the table. (Besides, haven’t we all heard more than enough from ‘influencers’ who learned some life lesson five minutes ago and now firmly believe they are an expert on the subject? Sigh.)
“All the months are crude experiments, out of which the perfect September is made.” -Virginia Woolf
September, though, is a thing of beauty. I’ve always noticed I sleep more deeply and hold moments with greater care in September. The sun’s warm rays have a breath of frost behind them. The color-turning leaves, each one a precious coin spent from drowsy trees and drifting by to land where they choose. Bright reds against fading hazels. The dew clinging for hours before finally giving way to gentle warmth from bluest sky. Autumn is for those who think in colours.
Today I don’t have anything profound, simply a note to say I’m noticing. And perhaps a message to look out the window, go for another walk, breathe deeper, listen slower.
Walk in September
Yellow-brown leaves lie gently on the hardening ground,the wet grass
A mouldering fence reclines, at ease
amid the poplar stands
Tall white queens through sun-yellow crowns
filter cerulean sky
Regal and silent the owl swoops low
gray-black as a cinder snag
Berries in red translucent glory
glisten unbitten
Hidden in damp sprigs shedding the embroidered
early morning frost
(Sept 30, 2011)
Stories for Humans 