Season’s Turning


May your heart be as light .…


Sum­mer is wan­ing.  In the morn­ings, the geese cry to each oth­er as they turn their atten­tion to warmer climes.  The days grow short­er, the sun­shine tak­ing on a fad­ed, old-gold cast.  The flow­ers in my gar­den are long gone, their seed pods spread­ing their trea­sures in the hopes that spring will be a lush one. An equinox looms on the hori­zon.

Usu­al­ly the end of sum­mer tugs a cord of sad­ness in me, and I begin my qui­et spi­ral into sea­son­al depres­sion.  This year, I’m feel­ing the oppo­site.  It feels as if I’ve emerged from the sum­mer of end­ings.  Now I get to rest, to qui­et­ly cre­ate, to look toward what is instead of what is not.

This sum­mer was hard for me, for many.  I lost a friend to can­cer.  I said good­bye to a fur­ry com­pan­ion of 15 years.  Oth­er pets were in and out of the vet’s with too much reg­u­lar­i­ty.  A few friends lost fam­i­ly mem­bers.  A few friends had seri­ous health con­cerns.  So many across the world were vic­tims of dead­ly hate and mal­ice.  And our US pol­i­tics spun out of con­trol.  Friends still argue, divi­sive, about who should take the reins of our gov­ern­ment.

More per­son­al­ly, the words came grudg­ing­ly, and I had to fight every sen­tence before it would let me con­sign it to a page.  It felt like a dust bowl sum­mer, where noth­ing thrived save the heat and the wind, the empti­ness and the nev­er-end­ing grit.

So the cool­er weath­er and soft­er light feels like a bless­ing, an open­ing.  It feels like an oppor­tu­ni­ty to step back into cre­ation, and car­ing, and nur­tur­ing.  The soft­ness lifts the heart a lit­tle, soothes it.  It makes way for won­der­ful new things to peep through the door.  Like a new kit­ten (lit­er­al­ly).  That’s a good thing.

One of the lessons of this sum­mer is to live with­out regrets as much as pos­si­ble.  It’s a les­son that spi­rals around and around, orbit­ing me, mak­ing sure that I don’t for­get it.  It makes me impa­tient to do more, but hap­py to at least do.  It reminds me to savor.  It gives me back my words.

I hope your sum­mers were easy and kind, full of laugh­ter and explo­ration.  I want to hear what you did in your sum­mer.  Please share your sto­ry, even a lit­tle one.

May our autumns be gen­tle and abun­dant with all that is good, true and beau­ti­ful.  May all our hearts be as light as a feath­er.


Literally, a kitty.

Lit­er­al­ly, a new kit­ty.

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