My Own Coming Autumn

 

My own coming autumn:

it's a season of letting go, of leaves in a brief flash of color and then released to the ground - it's hours gone to growing darkness, and warmth to colder touch of sun. Yet I feel no real sense of loss, perhaps a small sorrow for times passage, a growing sense of age and my own coming autumn. No leaf clings to a branch with any hope of skipping seasons. What comes is its own release, a moment not chosen but accepted once arrived. Life happens, nature, and letting go leads to winter, barren branches and bitter cold. It's often a time of struggle, it is for me, cold touches me deeper now, to the bone and seemingly all the way to the soul. I miss the longer days, more time in the comfort of sun, and I mourn for the loss of green, it's vibrant proof of life offered in display. 

it's autumn now, winter not so far, and everything is in the midst of change. I have no idea how many seasons I have left, none of us do, each of us coming to our own letting go. There is no sure way to prepare for this, to surrender a certain moment for the uncertainty of whatever comes next. It happens on its own, nature's course that includes me in its flow no matter what I wish. But I do find myself prepared in a sense, that I am alive now, and my attention is turned to letting go, to my own coming autumn - each moment is its own season, a spring of existence concluded by the winters cold. It's a seasonal becoming, with no true ending, seamless, one thing letting go of its own sense of being in order to continue as the whole. 

there is a letting go, now, and at once there is a new becoming, life offering itself in a new display of both loss and wonder. It's a full season, not just autumn to winter and all that follows, but the continuation of existence, life eternal in this very moment. No, I have no idea of how many seasons I have left, but I am assured of my own letting go, that it's happening now even as I write, and the next word will come in a season of its own. Each moment is a small letting go - yet somehow still...life continues in its flow. I am not a season set apart, and aware of this, until my final letting go, I continue too. 

~

Peace, Eric