Heartbeat of the Season

Nearing the the end of autumn here in northern Maine, a few  straggling plants have been pruned and  remaining planters, chairs, and hoses gathered and stored for the winter.  Sunflowers stand stark beside the bird feeder  in an otherwise empty yard. The birds love the sunflower seeds almost as much as the birdseed.

Tamarack trees transition from green to yellow. Hubby always says when they drop all their needles, winter is here and we can expect the first snowfall anytime.

Breezes blow raw, chilling the bones with an occasional warm afternoon heated by the sun. My days of walking outside have come to an end. 

My inner rhythms shift slowly. My brain struggles to catch up or gear down. Several projects call out to me. There's the cabinet I wanted to restore, painting in my bedroom I've thought about for three years and now the trim around new windows needs staining. 

Yet I sink into a chair by the heater and read a book. Guilt plagues me but I push it away, reminding myself how important caring for me is. I want to follow the rhythms of my body and soul rather than the to-do list, which screams out, "Christmas is only two months away."

I drove to the gym in the dark this morning, rain gently falling upon a few glorious leaves hanging on to their branches. From their I went to my massage therapist who is working diligently on my problem left shoulder. 

As I lay upon her table feeling the pain and tension in my neck and shoulders, I know I must continue to find ways to relax and release the things weighing upon my mind. Like the tamarack tree, letting go is a part of the transitions of seasons. 

My OLW (one little word) for 2016 is shed. Nine weeks remain. Next to"open," which was my word for two year, shed has been perhaps the most meaningful. 

As an English major, I learned the importance of writing with a sense of place and how it affects the characters and the story. My sense of place grows deeper with each passing year of my story. The heart of each season connects with my soul, beating a rhythm filled with guidance, if I will but listen.