Clarity

The cold has arrived. It froze last night. The air this morning has a diamond sharp quality, flawless. The sun is no longer close enough to transmit heat, but lightens the sky and defines the landscape in high definition. Leaves are still dropping, but only half-heartedly. The wind that blew them these last few weeks, in Wizard of Oz-like magical gusts, is still. The trees know fall is over.

My mind feels sharpened by the cold. I haven’t yet dulled my senses for winter hibernation. The early dark hasn’t lulled me. I am like the fuzzy caterpillar I saw inching across the barn floor yesterday, trying to avoid chrysalis formation. I want to become a butterfly now. But Mother has her rules.

My body is fighting my mind. I seek creature comfort in the cold. I need more food, more clothes. I am sluggish, sleepy. My physical self is beginning to conserve energy. But my mind is struggling to hold onto fertile ground, sun-warmed, water-soaked, rich earth. Where it can grow, tilting its fragile stem toward the sky.

I am racing against time. We are in the pause between seasons. Like the sound between notes. Or the space between breaths. It it fleeting, and goes unnoticed much of the time. But it is a powerful place, rich with veins connected absolutely to Her. I am trying to elongate the note, the breath, to feed my mind enough food to last the winter. Before the edges of me freeze.