falling toward fall

It is hard sometimes to accept what is coming. Especially when you’re not ready, or prepared. Or when you want the moment, the joy, the light to linger just a little bit longer.

I realized with a slight sinking feeling the other night as I drove home from yoga that it was dark – not merely “the-streetlights-just-came-on-dark,” but completely and fully dark… Only a few weeks before the drive home had been in the deep goldeny pre-sunset light. I remember distinctly because I had admired the bright peach and orange and yellow that played on the tall trees along the road. ..This seemed to catch me by surprise – the new darkness, and remind me that summer cannot stay forever. The sun is stepping back into the shadows… slowly. The light season is dutifully edging its way out of the forefront. Leaving the party, as it's scheduled to do at this time. I had this weird desperate feeling like, no! that was not enough time…

It happens other times too. When I look at my kids and realize they have gone through a growth spurt right before my very eyes. Brooklyn got her ears pierced this summer and sometimes I’ll look over at her as she’s standing there the way she does with her hip out, and she’ll look so big. I want to slow her down. And then there’s Owen. Last summer he mainly wanted to nurse and sleep in my arms. It seemed very challenging at the time, because parenting three other children from the couch with a sleeping baby poses some difficulty. But it made for a slow leisurely summer  -- watching the kids in the backyard and seeing the sun set below the maple trees night after night. This summer Owen is walking. No, Owen is running. And so I am always running too. Everything feels fast and rushed. Trying to get here or there, and trying to prevent Owen from throwing himself down the staircase, which he seems hell bent on doing… And Quin and Peyton. Both girls grow grow grow… And sometimes I look at myself and realize that, I too, am getting older.

As a sidenote… Brooklyn has an amazing sense of smell. If ever she wants to know if an article belongs to someone in particular, she smells it. A stuffed animal, for example. Or a sweater or shirt. She will bring it closely to her nose, close her eyes and deeply and carefully inhale, then declare the owner. She’s always right. I love that she does this. I do it, too. I associate people and places and even certain times with smell. Sometimes I can even smell change coming. It’s in the air right now. In the morning it’s the most clear. A wet and dark smell, like the deepest part of a lake.

I think the trick is believing the change is right. Even when it feels scary. Losing the summer comes with a bit of grief. Watching youth fade is terrifying to most of us. I won’t lie and say I’m altogether comfortable with it. I’m not. But I’m trying to accept that there is a wisdom to it all that I can only just begin to understand.