Floating Back Down to Earth

I missed the transition of summer to fall, but I'm finding it now in October.

I’ve been hovering over earth for this season’s change. Disembodied, disconnected from the true passing of summer into fall.

From the loss of my boss and mentor at Labor Day to the hurricane that hit the Piedmont to my husband’s long-planned trip to France to kickoff October, I’ve felt trapped inside a temporary cloud, looking out through a foggy chamber, noticing the cool air and the crunchy leaves and the slanting light below, but not feeling part of it.

But I’m floating back down; reconnecting.

Last weekend my sister and I trekked up to SkyTop for apples with Josiah, a ritual. Aside from the occasional apple tree lying on its side—it felt like a normal thing. A welcome thing.

Yesterday I pruned vining tomatoes hard, harvesting everything with a blush and leaving behind only clusters of fruit that still has a chance to ripen before frost.

Before and after.

I topped beds with compost, planted garlic, sowed lettuce and radish seeds.

I drank hot tea, and threw a plaid blanket on the couch, and planned a meal of soup and grilled cheese.

I talked with Jacinta this morning, a friend and co-worker and fellow Greenvillian this morning. She has been feeling much the same as me.

We both said something feels wrong about “celebrating” fall, while so much of our community is still suffering greatly.

But we agreed that whether we can celebrate it or not this year, we need to acknowledge we are part of it, and we need to take what is good from it.

It reminded me of twisting a Virginia creeper vine into a small wreath and tucking dried rudbeckia into it, haphazardly, a few days ago. Something lovely and pleasing from the fading summer, that will stay with me through the fall.

And I started feeling part of the season, back on earth.