It’s quiet this morning as I sip my coffee. The hum of the window fan is soothing, providing the benefit of white noise and cooling things down. I think about how quickly the summer has passed and how un-summer-like it felt. I will miss the longer days, but I long for the crisp evening air that wraps around me and whispers, “I’m here for you.”
This season has always been one of rekindling for me. Perhaps it’s the sun setting sooner or the need for layering because it’s cool in the morning and warmer during the day. Or maybe it’s the shedding, which I’ve talked about before. The trees shed their leaves, my dog sheds his coat, bears hibernate, and the birds flock South.
They are layers of change that may be easy and challenging for one another. I’ve found myself in both scenarios. Scared of change and exhilarated by it. Landscapes change, though, don’t they? Perhaps what we envisioned doesn’t fully come into focus. And that can be frustrating—blurred lines even, and shadowy thoughts.
Until something shifts again, and another layer exposes itself. The focus becomes more precise. The sketch begins to take form. The pigments mix to form another color. The brush of life strokes the canvas.
You wonder what you will make of it. Will it be impressionism or realism? Does it matter as long as you are present for it? I wonder from time to time if any of it makes sense. At those moments, I usually return to the reassuring signs to keep going.
Yet, even in charging ahead, there’s hesitancy sometimes. Worry sets in, panic even. And, then, it shifts like the weather. I think that’s why I enjoy the signs of the changing seasons. They serve as reminders and, sometimes, even wake-up calls.
There’s something so magical about looking up at the midnight sky and seeing the stars dance. Or looking out at the river after a brutal winter storm and seeing the diamonds form on the ice. I love the feeling as I sink into my Adirondack chair on a hot summer day in the river or on a cold fall night by the crackle of the fire pit.
Laughter. Quiet. The call of the owl or the serenade of the birds. The way the river thrashes upon the rocks or wades across them. Children playing and teenagers exchanging secrets as they walk down the street. Neighbors smile as they pass by. Some grumble, too.
The smells, the scenery, and the evocation of change on the horizon mesmerize me and propel me forward.
So, I give in and let the tides of change help carry me to that place that’s yet to be.
Strong Ink Indeed!