November. I always casually think of September and October as the big change months here. Physically everything is becoming different. But November. November is when it really takes hold. Inside. Something like a chill. But really a pulling INward. This November it feels more obvious. The movement. The change in the dance. The coma effect.
A glance at the wall this morning. I saw, without looking that the rain had gone. But as the shadows danced I knew the wind was still here. And I can hear the wind. Big wind. Pieces of trees free falling. Pieces of me shifting. Finding a more comfortable new arrangement. So the wall looked like this.
But felt like this.
It is going to be that kind of day. Month. And then some. I am going to try being be a bit less present with social media and the blog and a bit more present with myself. Undoing expansion. Less, yet a deepening. So, then more. Some shift, but a natural shift. That fits with my own evolving natural sense of order.
I couldn't update my newsletter yesterday because this sense of season had not yet settled in. Today then maybe. And I think it is time for a little patch of wind. Or maybe a big one.
I am going outside to Dance with Leaves. To clear my head. To toss the compost piles. To prune the raspberries. To move some wood closer to the house. To dig onions. To mulch the garlic. To harvest walnuts and sumac. To build a bigger trellis for the grapes.
Later, a little stitching and probably a little doodling.
Meanwhile in the spirit of things, I have renamed this one Dancing with Leaves. I almost want to name everything that today. I can feel myself dancing with the lighter side of things in the coming days. Just to rock back out a little. Create some wind. I've decided to dress up for Halloween.
This winter seems the coldest I remember, maybe because we chose to face the cold in a more head on way. Knowing its presence with every choice made in a day. These icicles on the roof actually changed direction in the wind. I like to look at them, trying to catch the slowness in that. Slow Flow. The sympathetic evolution of the form. Still icicle, but new. And knowing only for the moment...
There is a snow line that forms a horizon like ring around the Wind Robe. I found it last year right around the time that mom became really ill. The icicles formed here and there. I remember a lot of meltdown then as well. I've been working to secure some of the meeting points near by. Some left over wishing stars hold tender places. At least for now. White can be cold and warm I think. I am letting my mind wander today. Back and forth.
House guests are gone. I am caught up in a week past filled with questions about people. How do they get all twisted up? And how nature's answer to that might simply be season. How we might embrace the beauty in that. It might soften hardened opinions and frozen hearts.
a doodle from wednesday titled still in the wind. as i work my way back from silence, i notice how stillness and silence change one's sense of time. which seems to be the sense of all things and how they appear and disappear.