In fall, things flame before they die. There is Fire! Pain! Dramaaaaaa. And then wintry death.
I’m on my phone, typing with a flashing digit of my own. It’s all surreal, how many changes we’ve incorporated fairly seamlessly. (technology, divorce… )And the changes we cannot seem to absorb? Those are surreal as well. (technology, divorce…)
its another day now, i’m not on the phone anymore, which is a blessing. i’m 100% positive I cannot communicate well with it, even verbally.
so here i am.
It is really so clear here, where we have such a fiery fall, that there are these last gasps of glamour, and one strong wind will sweep us into the branch segment of our year. the sticks of winter, the pokey bits.
i’m feeling a little dissociated lately, even the writing i do for myself feels a little flat. i just thought about telling you how my direct line of sight goes to a row of evergreens out the window, so i find it very easy to feel/see/remember green year-round.
and then i stopped myself (obviously i lost that battle, in the end, but the gears all jarred, clang clang clang) because i thought it was too flat, too un-quippy.
Last year i was very caught off-guard by the grief i felt at the fifth Fall since my dad died. This year i’m not caught off-guard but am surprised by how much I feel like crawling into a hole for the month.
and there is nothing I can do about it. The kids keep demanding to be fed. The dog barks, the chickens will just up and die. So there is no hole for me.
PISS! GROAN! HIDE!