Fall-ing in love . . .

 “Little bear sleeps in his little bear skin.
He sleeps very well, I am told. . .”

It’s cold and rainy here this morning – a quiet gray shot through with flashes of orange and yellow.  Here and there, skeletal branches, already stripped of their leaves, poke crooked fingers through the foliage, signaling the inevitable coming of winter.

For some this time brings with it a looming sense of finality.  Gone are the evenings of short sleeves, cold beer and conversations on the patio. Bedroom windows have been closed.  Cotton sheets give way to down-filled comforters. 

And yet, in spite of this, I can’t help noticing a certain feeling of transcendence.  The air is alive with the crackle of leaves, the smell of wood fires, the crispness of the breeze. 

Armed with cap, umbrella and nylon windbreaker, I step down off the porch and simply breathe.  Autumn whispers in my ear of winter nights to come and the projects already piling up to occupy them.  Crock pots filled with soups and stews. Batches of mead warming on the stove while the wind rattles at the windows.  Wooden frames for next year’s garden.  Cataloging  tchotchke in preparation for the move.

Bear has taught me that soon it will be time to slow down and regroup – to turn my attention inward and replenish my energy for the work of spring and summer.  I am grateful for this lesson, and the necessary space it brings.

Already I can feel myself beginning to slack. . .

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