autumn, poetry, seasons, transition, winter

It Starts with a Breeze

It is hot and muggy yet I felt a hint of a cool breeze as I eased into the adirondack chair in my garden. The slightest rustling in the trees above. Maybe a remnant of a seashore gust. Maybe a teaser that fall is coming. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. A reminder that God’s Spirit is always on the move. 

The pace of autumn always catches me off guard. It comes every year, and every year I am surprised by its gallop. When I lived further north, fall used to represent long sleeves and sweaters as the cool air turned the leaves. Here in Texas, it has a different feel. The heat lingers and turns everything brown. A slow burn. No snow to brighten up the landscape, just dormancy as the trees sleep. A grayness settles over for the long months of winter. 

The transition into fall has been a struggle the past few years. I want to learn how to embrace the season as it presents itself here. 

Can I love the temperance?

Can I embrace the gray pallet?

Can I accept the release, the letting go?

Can I live into the dormancy and the fallowness?

I wonder if it is the pace of school life juxtaposed to the dormancy that throws me off. The earth is shutting down to rest while academic life is ramping up. Can I find connection in the dichotomy? Can I create space for and honor the dormancy while still participating in the cadence of school life?

The briskness of the autumn air in Wisconsin and Maine used to invigorate me for the deep dive into school. Maybe I can allow the late Texas heat to purify me and refine me. 

Maybe autumn in Texas is my yearly crucible. Maybe the Spirit really is on the move. 

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