Summer Harvest

I consider the Fall my season
I’ve appreciated the summer
as something meant to pass
the quicker the better
Climate craziness notwithstanding
You can smell the Autumn in the air
And not just coming from the
coffeehouse vents
There’s a scent of almost cold
Of apples and school bus fumes
Of Halloween and Harvest Festival makeup
And bushels of candy being consumed
Tearing up tiny teeth
Dying leaves
Dying beautifully
But with that yeasty sweetness
That is almost forgivable
Because it’s so colorful
And sometimes, just sometimes,
There’s a smell of practice meals
for friends
for family
for Thanksgiving
But there are stores shouting
Hello Halloween
Let’s Pumpkin out
Be Thankful
Christmas Trees are on sale
In August
Let alone September
When Autumn actually comes
I’m learning to appreciate
the harvest
even though the timing
isn’t as natural as it
used to be


Change of Plans 2

Contemplating this wheelhouse in which I find myself… jokes on me for even thinking that I could control one half a millisecond of it.

And yet, there is a comedy to the perfection of the raindrops that hit me in my current, un-umbrella’ed, situation. Some moments can take you back to other moments, due to the elegant simplicity of how they fit so perfectly.

Same jeans, same shirt, same shoes, here you are in that arena, You knew you’d return, even though you didn’t know how you really felt about that idea.

Still, there you are, standing outside in the rain, and you find yourself uncovered once again, at least at this juncture, because this place was never meant to be hidden or concealed. You physically can not hide it.

But the day is different, even though you’re standing on the same street. No matter how surreal, or how horrible that one Tuesday was. Or even that other Tuesday. This Tuesday marks the milestone of something wonderful, and you can rock that same set of healed heels with peace because this day ain’t that day.

This bears repeating. This day ain’t that day.

The wave that returns to you may have the same batch of salty seaweed and brackish water, but you will find the fish are different.

I say again, this day, ain’t that day.

Put that day “over there”. Because it ain’t goin’ nowhere. It has a mile marker in your life’s journey, and you are allowed to return. Just not today, because this day didn’t come for that, and you need this day’s stuff unpacked for the work needed.

This day deserves its own watering of seed, and wink of sass. This day has its parade ready to go, and you deserve your own walk down it, rife with ticker tape, and shouting fans, witnessing you hit this marker and move right past it (yes in that outfit–the one you considered burning).

You know what your witnesses do? They shout victoria! That point you thought was a stopping point, in fact, was a marker to remind you of this victory and the victories to come.

Are you not exactly where you need to be? Is not this perfect “storm of emotion” or “rain of circumstance” the very Forest-camouflaged wheelhouse you needed to walk through, to go through since you put those pants on.

Go on now.

I sometimes feel like dancing in the middle of people. But I try not to bump the ones too close.

Author. Editor. Performer.