The light wanes. It’s difficult to get up on these navy blue mornings; I feel heavy and misplaced. Better to roll over, burrow under, press my body up against my safe home and not come out til springtime or resurrection day. It’s a beautiful time, this darkening season, but this year I am struggling to find the sun.
My parents named me Light-bearer and in times like this, I chide myself–for laying down my lantern, for letting the flame flicker to a just-barely-blue lick, for not tending that which is explicitly mine to tend. Sometimes it is easier to surrender to the swelling night than it is to keep a vigil lamp. Sometimes it is easier to be in the dark that stretches on to December: quiet, still, and inward-folding.
This autumn is for me to sit inside my shadows. The light isn’t gone; it just flickers. I can’t bear it bright and bold all the time.
The synchrobloggers are writing about seasons.