Despite a most lovely Indian Summer crowned with blue skies and golden grasses, I anticipate the coming cold. I know that my foreshortening a mild and mellow autumn is preemptive, but already I feel myself drawing down.
As the Autumn Equinox creeps closer, I feel a non-existent chill on the back of my neck. As the daylight hours wane, I find myself looking over my shoulder. When will we have our first frost? When will we have our first snow? Will a wolf (always a slathering wolf with yellow teeth) follow me home?
Not that it is chilly yet, but already I’m seeking warmth. Hunching my shoulders and wrapping my arms around my mid-section, I keep the thought of winter’s chill at-bay. You would think I was hunkering down for lack of artificial light and going to bed when day was done.
After a lengthy wet spring that kept Colorado under wraps, summer has seemed exceedingly short. Yes, the operative word is “seemed.” The warm weather days were likely of standard duration, but I was too busy to revel in the season. I definitely did not spend enough time reclining in a deck chair, soaking up the sun, and listening to the bees hum a happy tune. Busyness will be the un-doing of me.
You would think that in my maturity, I would have learned to prioritize. To live in the moment. To savor the season. But no.
I live Rock Star fast. Every day is chock full. If that is not bad enough, I live in the future. I have a bad habit of reading the obituaries. Some years ago, four obituaries made The Wet Mountain Tribune the same week. And every single person was younger than I was at the time! The writing was on the wall!
TIME AND TIDES WAIT FOR NO MAN.
There is nothing like writing a memoir to make you come face-to-face with yourself. I don’t know that what I’m doing is writing a memoir, but I am collating poems, plays, short stories, journal entries, blogs and Tribune “Time Out” columns that I have written over the years. I have a ton of material. I’m not sure what I will do with it once I have everything in one file, but the process has held up the mirror.
Rereading old material and moving scattered, isolated pieces to one site has been a revelation. Writing years ago… about things that I thought I knew… now reveal that I was misguided and knew nothing. When I started this project, I thought that I wanted to share who I was with my children and grandchildren. Now that I am thoroughly engaged, I see that my trolling through the water, pond scum and duckweed will introduce me to myself.