On the breeze there glides a sweetness only the end of summer can stir into its humid air. Seasons click, frame by frame, from one to the next.
There is coffee in my cup and a long list in my mind of things I will need to get done today around the house and outside of it.
But for right now. Silence. Mindful presence.
This may sound as stupid to you as it does to me in my head but I feel very good today. Like not fake good but honestly, in my bones, in my soft beating heart, I feel okay.
I am not nervous. I am not anxious.
I can see the way the quiet morning light falls gently on each leaf of each plant by the open window. And I couldn’t really even tell you what it is inside of me that has shifted.
I have always worried that if I have no angst in me, I have no art in me either. What if that isn’t true. What if so much of what I have believed all along about myself, who I am, what I am here to do, what I am made for, simply is not the truest version of me.
Big dreams to uncover. What is this wild hope which flows in my blood?
Perhaps we are made to change. To be different people, say different things, think different thoughts.
In our own time.
There is a pulse of something beating in me. It is ancient and knowing and wise and patient. The amount of patience which exists in this place is enough to fill the chest with tears.
Perhaps this is a time of shedding.
An airplane flies in a high straight line, clear across the razor blue sky. After its sound, only the crickets and crows, and the crickets only for a little while longer. Until the air turns to cold smoke and the atmosphere to haunted purple.
Perhaps we are the clicking of seasons, too.