The air is humming

Something’s coming, I can feel it. Maybe it’s just the big white monster of winter with it’s slushy grey tail curled up on the other side of fall. Maybe something else.

Approximation only. 

The weather turned quick. It’s time to haul the suitcases with sweaters in them up from the basement. Last week we opened the Art Church, although it won’t really feel like that until I do something more me in here. Twisted up in the opening is that Dan brought over the last of my parent’s behemoth bedroom furniture, since I now have a place to house it. He showed up like a visitor from another timeline, one that started in a coffee shop in West Virginia where we said opening up a space together was all we wanted to do. Maybe there’s another strand where we did. But on the one I’m riding, I did it by myself.

There's all these wisps of regret and doubt in fall, even though it’s my favorite favorite. I don’t know why. I don’t love summer but there’s this pumpkin pie flavored sad when it ends.

So I’m antsy knowing something is coming in a season that will make it complicated to take. Whatever change is here for me, whatever painful edification or irritating betterment of my soul is going  to go down even as I try to get everything organized on the bookshelf of my life. I want all my people and all my beliefs and practices lined up like a row of spines that binds me so I can ease into winter secure.

It’s just about time for rules. Marshmallows arrive and remembering Fumi, then Salem, then Halloween decorations, then Halloween, then November decorations and then Thanksgiving, and then the sprint from Thanksgiving to the Light Holidays which includes Wassailing and the first Bailey’s Irish Cream and then New Year’s Eve cigars and then the ascetic slog from New Years to the Lunar New Year. The days are lined up. The people are harder. Will Andrew and Rachel be able to have Holiday Dinner together? How to bring in Darin and his kids in a way that works for them and us? What if he has to leave? What if Corn can’t come? Will everyone be well? This is the period in which the suicide attempts all happened and wrecked us 30 ways.

I hope what’s coming will not be like that.

If I’m gonna pray on it, I’ll pray that I only need to be slightly disturbed to leap and respond. I am going to keep my spiritual ear to the ground. If the universe seems to be seeking to scold and reform me, I pray that I will catch it at a whisper and not a shout. Easy, easy.