Even though the weather isn't unfriendly, I'm still finding myself burrowing in.
Staying in my home.
Cleaning thoroughly and often.
Warming up the kitchen with soups, cookies, and pots of water for tea or decadent chocolatey coffees.
It's another reconnection, I think.
In the spring we awake and are enlivened by the joy and life Mother Nature offers us. We tread so softly on the earth - carefully watching for the youngest sprouts and tiniest buds.
She invites us to join with Her in celebration --alive!, alive!, rejoice!, she sings and sways.
And we celebrate life with her. For the next several months.
And then suddenly - and it does seem to happen suddenly, for me - everything slows down.
The fruit stops falling from the trees. The beauties in the garden just stop ripening.
Now there seems to be a hush across this land of mine - everything seems to have just... stopped.
There are not many obvious signs of autumn here, yet.
The trees in the valley are still green. I don't hear the rustling of leaves, or see them tumble pell-mell down the road.
All the world is not colored in golden oranges, browns, and reds.
But it's here, none the less.
I can feel it making its way into my thoughts, and even into my daily activities.
Inside my Self I can feel autumn breathing its first sighs.
I feel it in the mornings when I awake, burrowed into my lush comforter filled with down.
I feel it as I put my feet into the first pair of socks I've worn in months.
I feel it in my mind - wanting to get to a deep and still place, instead of being lured by the excitement promised by gallivanting adventures.
Outwardly, my world seems to have paused at this precipice.
In our very next collective breath, shared between Mother and I, I expect this world to change right before my very eyes.
All of me welcomes it.