Change of Seasons, Change of Heart
There comes a moment at the end of every summer, a catch-me-off-guard moment, when I feel summer is drawing to a close. This year, that didn't happen so much because I was so much in denial, my heart wasn't open to listening to the seasons and changing light. I am dreading winter so much I'm refusing to accept the end of summer and the beckoning of fall. And it's not really my fault. Every time I kept thinking, summer is ending, summer is ending...out comes another bout of 80-degree weather and we pop over to the beach for the day.
So when the moment came, as it inevitably does, it was much later in the season. And so it came not in the feeling that summer is ending, but that I may be missing fall if I don't react soon. I was right here on this canoe when the moment arrived. Suddenly flashbacks to afternoon football games on TV and the feel of the cool breeze wafting in the living room as my dad pulled out the sofa from the wall and Windexed all the windows. The taste of peanuts poured just for me into the Planter's jar lid. The colors of my parents' plaid wool fringed afghan. The anticipation of Thanksgiving at my grandmother's house and rolling down her big hills into piles of leaves. The smell of my mom's spiced apple cinnamon something on the stove...it was time to settle in. And instead of feeling like I had to say goodbye to summer, I felt I had something to look forward to - exciting, crisp, New England fall. These thoughts didn't make me sad, as I thought they would, but just different.
You never know when acceptance will tap you on the shoulder. You don't have to be ready at all.