By Catherine Viel, October 8, 2023
(Golden Age of Gaia)
October 7, 2023
Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
~Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Autumn Song
I’m enveloped in a not-unpleasant fog much of the time, these days. I meander along, doing the minimum necessary to keep home and family clicking on most cylinders. I have to forcibly direct my attention to the things that engage, delight, and inspire from the level of the heart, rather than the checklist-oriented mind.
Even the halfhearted appearance of my favorite season, Fall, hasn’t sparked my dormant imagination. The recent heatwave had me feeling like nature itself was conspiring against the richly fertile melancholy that usually suffuses me in the Fall.
To counterbalance it, I raided Michael’s for their autumn clearance sale, and was rewarded with a riotous abundance of garlands and florals, happily nudging me toward the creative outlet of decorating.
*****
I strung a garland over the doorway and draped another across the fireplace mantle. A big chunk of my attention lately has been consumed with, well, consuming. Finding recipes, trying new ones. Oh dear. Am I becoming the cliché I’ve spent my entire life avoiding, the middle-American hausfrau, contentedly (or perhaps dutifully) creating a pleasing and nourishing home? In other words, have I become my mother?
She’s not a bad role model at all, and I could do far worse than to emulate her. But I prefer conscious emulation rather than absentmindedly falling into a role that I’m sure neither heart, nor soul, nor self would willingly choose.
Thank goodness I remember to glance now and then at the ticker tape rolling off my heart. One glimpse will tell me if I’m on track with my soul, or becoming lost in meaningless busyness.
*****
I’m sure the Fall season will kick in, even in Santa Barbara. Eventually. Eventually, the deeper soul and heart connection that Fall always brings will become apparent.
Meantime, I reread a paean to Fall I wrote a couple of years ago, savoring the reminder of Falls past and the hope for intriguing futuristic Falls (holodeck, anyone?). Perhaps by the osmosis of words, I can engage with that contemplative, half melancholy, and wholly satisfying Fall mood.
