Falling

Autumn's dichotomy leaves (pun intended) me whiplashed every year. I'm torn between the visual, gluttonous consumption of VT confetti trees, and feeling the dread of imminent darkness and shortened days.

Emotional ripples undulate through my chilled bones as seasons shift. They tug at my tunic, yelling "pay attention," beg me to notice, and plead to be observed. In years past I've tightly gripped to the dwindling energetic daylight, shunned the lengthening nights, and ran away from increasing melancholy. 

Interconnectedness to circadian rhythm invites me year after year to widen my aperture; to learn the season's lessons. To not busy past the wisdom and intelligence of nature. To not pile heavy blankets of comfort foods over my resentment of winter's arrival. To not mourn my spring and summer sunrise routine, and begrudgingly surrender to hibernation patterns.

As years pass and wisdom seeps in, I'm learning to honor the cycles, and respect that decay is humus for next summer's abundance. Shortening is required for lengthening to return; this interconnectedness is the secret and sacred sauce. What we leave to compost matters. We all play a part in this magical, intricate system.