Tag Archives: auttumn

the harvest of now

It is a special time of year. The nights lengthen, and the earth gives up her bounty in a brilliant harvest.  Even the moon seems more generous, hanging close to the horizon like low hanging fruit.

Blessings are running thick for me these days. Last week, my writing was featured on FreshlyPressed and since then I have had hundreds of new visitors to my blog.  I am honored and I am humbled by the kind words from so many people around the world.  With a simple click from an editor at wordpress.com, these precious and unsolicited gifts came my way.  Thank you all, for visiting and sharing and encouraging and most of all for reading.  I hope you will continue to do so for many years to come.

A few days after my post went live on FreshlyPressed, a stray cat strolled into my living room, rubbed against my legs and claimed me as her own.  In a breath my household expanded from one cat to two, and I smiled, knowing the world can be full of tremendous, spontaneous joy.  And the following afternoon my father and stepmother arrived at their new home in the desert to stay.  I have family living nearby for the first time in nearly a decade. It is wonderful.  It feels like a wrong has been corrected.

There is a lot in pop culture about happiness- how to seek it, and how to keep it.  To me, it seems to be a blend of luck, suffering, patience and courageous truth-seeking. I had to suffer and lose in order to open my arms wider to all the joys in life. Today, things are simple. My days are quiet and calm and full of beauty in a million small ways, and in some larger ways too.   But to get here I had to speak my truth to my lovers and my friends and my husbands and my parents. I had to disappoint, I had to dismantle, I had to be brave. And I had to be patient, for everything circles around eventually. 

I can say with sincerity that things are good, life is good, and I am happy.

soupbone

Soupbone, my new baby

Tucson in November

November in the desert is a study of opposites.  The skies have gone quiet, awaiting the arrival of winter migrants. The sun still shines warmly yet the wind blows cold, laced with the sweet smell of decay.  Night come early and lingers well into the next day, and even though I am a morning person, I find myself slumbering longer and longer under heavy blankets.

The chickens are up with the sun when she shows her face, and demanding squawks eventually pull me out of bed and into the garden. The cold is quickly dissipating under the sun’s loving stare; even though I can see my breath in puffs, my rumpled hair is warmed by sunshine as I feed the birds and release them from the coop into the yard.The air is perfumed with the aroma of the growing and the dying.   I appraise the winter lettuce,whose green fingers tentatively reach upwards from the deep black earth.  The fig and peach trees shed their leaves like a papery dress, yet the carrots extend tender young greens upward and wave a feathery “hi!”

Even in Tucson, winter gardens can be a bit of a gamble.  With hardly a warning the long night could decide to push the temperature below freezing and irreparably damage the brave young plants that dare to grow in the coldest, darkest months.  The eggplant has already taken a hit, and its only mid-November.  But we are fearless beings, the veggies and I, and seek the light wherever we can find it.

The warm sun, the cool breeze, the sweetness of the earth, the cackle of the chickens are intoxicating, but the afternoon pulls me indoors.  Today has seen temperatures well into the 70’s, but deeper instincts of the dying light and coming cold cause me to seek shelter.  Home yields its own delights; before long the kitchen smells a curious combination of burned sage, the yogi tea bubbling on the stove, the yeasty sweetness of bread in the oven.

It is fall.  We grow upward, we turn inward  We shiver through the night and bask in yellow sunshine during the day.

Our Fall Garden, 2011

May you find your own sweet balance between the light and the dark.