filtering life seasonally

The leaves are staying on the trees much longer than they usually do this year. Typically, there is a large windstorm right around Halloween that strips all the fabulous color and resigns us to the bare branches and mucked-up storm drains of winter. This year, the "Big Blow 2007" came too early--the leaves were still firmly rooted to their branches. Even though a large, recently installed sculpture crashed to the ground, the natural artwork of fall has hung on for a few extra days, with no storm yet in the forecast. For once this means that I really have a chance to savor fall for what it really is... my favorite season.

There is no season more colorful than fall; even spring fails to compare. The colors of spring often lack the intensity and pervasiveness that fall color has. While spring is dramatic and wonderful in it's own right, Fall brings us misty mornings with late sunrises arching up and filtering through golden and ochre leaves, bathing the world one last time in a warm glow, even if it fails to make me want to loosen my scarf and hat. Fall gives us the tantalizing sounds of crunching leaves underfoot, giving even a mundane run to catch the bus a subtle soundtrack. Fall smells encompass everything from the deep musty smell of freshly piled leaves to the spicy scent of cinnamon baking in my oven. Fall tastes of soups, pumpkin pie, and all things warm. Fall is a time of pulling in, battening down, and pulling a blanket over the world. Since I am a blanket kind of girl, I welcome it whole heartedly.

I was reminded of fall by it's extension. It lasted long enough for me to post some of the photos I've taken, and between going through those photos and wandering to the grocery store in a symphony of color and crackling footsteps, I realized what a blessing it is to have this season: a prelude to the snow and cold, a moment to pause and pull in everything we hold close, a reminder of the vibrancy of life. Now to pull out those scarves, gloves, and hats and prepare for winter.

never again, blank space

Paper doesn't cut it. The prospect of a blank page and a pen gives me aches of perfectionism... no backspace, no spell-check, no fixative for the extra flourish at the end of a word that adds an old-english style "-e." There's an anonymity in this random obscure page that only the deep delvers of the internet world (or those too fond of the "random post" button) will stumble upon. Here, there is the comfort of a web page. Have I gone so far into the world of computers that opening a word document leaves me feeling cold and afraid? Perhaps it is the connection to the vast information that strikes me, or perhaps it is the brightness of the posting templates. More probable is the connection made between a web page and entertainment, rather than work. One opens a personal email in gmail, not in outlook. One writes rants and emails in text boxes on webpages, not in Word. Here I can feel free to not fret over sentence structure and paragraph formation, unless I want to. Here I can evaporate into thin air from time to time, and start over anytime it feels right. Delete is a wonderful friend that the binding of paper pages does not allow.

And I am all about the deleting. When things get hard I pull back and cut back. I remove anything and anyone that bothers me until my comfort level returns. Right now, I want to delete my job, but in order to have the things that I want to have, I must continue doing something I don't necessarily love. Right now, I'd love to delete my roommate who judges me and presents an elitist front more often than I'd like to tolerate, but the lease is signed. Right now, I could delete the empty feeling in my gut, telling me that there is something out there I'm leaving out, that I'm forgetting. But why fill in the gap with another hole?

Instead of removing the broken pieces, I want to find a way to love all the pieces. I know that writing is a path towards this love for me, much as God can be for some. It may seem odd and blasphemous to hear me call my "god-shaped hole" a "word-shaped hole" but I believe that this is an accurate way to describe how I feel. Instead of feeling the need for a personal, powerful being to make sense of the world, I need words. Words encapsulate ideas by definition, yet they allude, inspire, and release more potent ideas from this encapsulation. By defining, words allow me understanding to a depth that expands upon itself. I have found this kind of understanding through faith before, and now I find it through knowing and believing, by defining and releasing, by allowing my thoughts to run away with words until I find myself back at home.

Without my best friend, the words have dried up. She inspires the most interesting conversations and thoughts and without her input i feel blank, time-less and space-less. Instead of rushing the time past me unspoken, unwritten, unaccounted for, I'll attempt to make some account. To put into words what I need to and to let the words exist in blank space that's never blank.