The end of summer near the mountains is always announced by changing winds. On a random day in September, the East winds turn icy, aromatic, and wild. As if summer kept a taming leash on them, they frantically chase each other across the mountains and fields. Everything that can be shaken will be turned. The trees turn bare, the sea wild and the heather pale. Even the clouds are pulled closer and then ripped open, hiding the sun further away.
The change into winter is never comfortable, and maybe it doesn't need to be. There is beauty in neglected spaces; the kind that needs to be uncovered to be seen. The ones often missed, because neglected spaces rarely feel comfortable to be in. They are notorious score-keepers of every disempowering decision we have made in recent history. And so, sometimes it requires a little chaos to swirl up the real intentions we covered up with routine.
It is in the slow fading pressure of all the summer activities when we are gifted time to check in. When we sit still, the self becomes clearer and the dead weight we carried throughout the year more prominent. That's the magic - letting discomfort strip us bare to face what we neglected for too long. It's not pretty, and even if we learned nothing new at all, we are guaranteed a new perspective.
Love,
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