Sometimes in the fall
It’s September 29th and the weatherman said a high of 64 today, so I put my fan in storage, tucking it next to unused luggage, envious of my roommates with their realized travels this summer's past. I add an extra blanket to my bed and throw on sweatpants tonight instead of shorts. As I light a candle, I notice my beach blanket hangs in the closet like a keepsake from summer. It's tarnished at the end, emblematic of the careless days and weathered fun.
I made amends with the early sunsets and welcomed the dip in temperatures. It rained last night, and although I shivered as I looked for my car, I kissed the cool breeze and let my tears drip down my cheek. Fall is here.
Though the trees are browning and the plants are dying, fall feels young. I revert to old habits. I listen to albums from high school and college. I meet myself at the intersection of where I've been and where I'm heading. Fall births reflection.
Sometimes in fall I screw up. I look in the mirror and ask myself what's wrong with me. I feel alone in my guilt, isolated in my experience. I dislike what I see in the mirror, and I mutter to myself that nothing is what it’s supposed to be. Once again, I’ve swayed too far from the path of better decisions. The only time when I feel fine is when swaddled by the blankets in my bed.
I fight with my flaws, I weigh my to-do lists, and I lose sight of where I come from. Sometimes in the fall I get nightmares. I awake in the night with images of loved ones dying. The trees losing their leaves reminds me of the cyclical nature of life. I make a mental note to call people more. I feel better when I do.
Sometimes in the fall I reteach myself forgiveness. I remind myself I'm okay, this too shall pass. I am not wrong or broken or unworthy. I am deserving of forgiveness, of love.
And as the trees lose their leaves, wearing nothing but their etched skin, sometimes in the fall I realize that I'm older now, but it doesn’t scare me. I realize that being on my own is the best equilibrium. I find comfort in my solitude, my books and music and fleeting connections. I know when they are over I can find another book, album, or person. I feel held by my own company. It’s true that the trees know that the leaves will sprout again, keeping their trunks warm like an embrace from a stranger. And when the leaves withdraw from the branches, landing haphazardly somewhere else, new ones will soon warm their wooden bodies again.
With love,
Emily
The In Bloom Daily Journal
Let out those late night thoughts / fall reflections / big ideas.
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