Picture it:
A cool breeze
and a constant drizzle
in the newly gold-tipped trees,
and inside
a warm house,
two lovers sit by a fire,
drinking tea.
“Rain all weekend,”
says the one, and
“That’s not so bad,”
says the other.
And it’s true,
you know –
there are worse ways
to spend
a couple of days
than inside, together,
just watching
the autumn world
turn damp and gray.
To fade,
to fall,
to create space –
Nature doesn’t just
let go
in autumn.
It makes room
to grow.
In your life,
may you be
curious.
I wish you
questions,
and the
patience
and the
time
to find
answers.
I hope you
feel the joy in
not knowing,
and in
learning
and growing.
May you never lose
that
spark,
that wondering,
wandering
eye,
that makes you
think
and try
and ask,
“But why?”
Rain, rain –
big fat drops
on the roof in
pings and plops,
gathered on the spider’s web
and pooling in the garden pots.
Monday comes.
Time never stops.
Autumn is a time for ghosts.
When the days turn,
when the world comes to rest,
there’s space and time
for those who’ve
stayed behind.
In the changing of the leaves
and the chilling in the air,
the smoky breeze
and the golden sky,
they join us,
just there.
As close as a breath,
and far as they’ve always been,
as fall to winter and winter to spring,
they wait for us in that place
between.
Inspiration…
lacking.
And slacking on the list.
Hours turn to evenings with
nothing to show.
I know, I know –
I can do better than this.
(One breath,
one step,
one task
at a time.)
Just choose the words
and make them rhyme.
Take a moment
and let it grow,
let it live
and sing.
Just make something.
(Anything.
Yes, you can.)
(…that I definitely didn’t write for myself, because I needed to hear it.)
Your time belongs to
only you.
So take it easy,
slow and steady,
and stop
and breathe
if you need to.
It’s okay to
just be
or to not
be okay.
The rest of the world –
it can wait.
To begin
is to know
you might fail,
and to choose
to try
anyway.
There is a time for
all things –
for grief,
love,
and change,
and for
the way forward.
There is space
enough
in this world to
feel,
to learn,
to see,
and to grow.
This, we know,
even in our worst moments,
and on our
saddest,
sweetest,
shortest,
longest days.
We don’t get to
choose
the minute
or the place,
but they belong to us.
We are
made
to live.
A space apart,
the pause in a song –
We live in this moment,
this
gap
between breaths,
and walk in
the
stillness
between movements.
Somewhere between
a time and a turning,
fast-approaching
but
slow and unsteady,
we wait.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 