17 August 2020

Slow Seasonal Shift

Black & White Study


 

 Every year about this time, I can feel a slow shift in the air -- the humidity drops, the light breezes are a bit chilly in the morning or evening, and there's a distinct clarity to the light.  It tells me that summer is nearing its end.  That soon the bright blooms will fade and droop, that one will need to fetch a sweater if intending to sit outside after sundown.  I usually find myself hankering for the subtle colors of autumn around now.  We've had more than three weeks of 90+ degree heat and stifling humidity, the kind that makes you not want to move an inch because you'll be drenched in sweat if you do move. 

But 2020 is proving to be my breaking point.  First, the pandemic hit and changed our lives in so many ways it makes my head spin to think about it.  And then the worst tragedy of all -- our son passed away in June.  He had just turned 30.  I'm not going into details.  Let me just say that my family is only now keeping our emotional heads above water.  We stay close.  We talk and cry together.  We eat together.  That's the best we can do at this point.  I don't believe the pain will ever truly go away.  It may lessen, but it will always be there.  

And so I need to keep my hands busy -- gardening, cooking, painting, crafting.  I need to put words and thoughts somewhere other than inside my head, which often feels like it's ready to explode. This is also making me re-evaluate how I want to live my life, how I want to move through my days in the coming months and years.  I want to be busy but at a slower pace than usual.  I want to take time each day to celebrate life and those I love.  I want a greater degree of simplicity.  

Not easy to achieve . . . I have so much to re-learn, so much to adjust.  I dread the holidays and winter, but am determined to embrace it.  I'm sure I'm not alone in this.  That many others have experienced loss and grief.  Yes, life goes on but, for me, I'll approach it with varying degrees of hope, frustration, joy and sorrow.  

Namaste,

Kelly M.

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