Autumn is my favorite time of year. Autumn is an artful stripper and I love the way she strides boldly on to the seasonal stage with a glamorous dance. She titillates the senses with golden maple, then a tingling breeze. At last, she walks off with a flourish of crimson oak.
Of all the seasons of the year, autumn is the one whose core work is transition and most of it involves harvesting. Harvesting is losing, choosing, and stripping. It’s the same way with these autumn days of my life: bold and honest; brutal and beautiful all at the same time. Consider that once upon a time I used to prance down the street in my hip-hugger bell bottom jeans, turning all the heads, thinking to myself in Ebonics, “I cool! I cool, y’all”. I am harvesting the results of the spring and summertime of my life these days. In my tailored power suit, I stop by the pharmacy and search the shelves with my short-sighted eyes for a product called, “icool”. I am losing the favor of a society that prefers youth and beauty. I am choosing to ignore that preference and to strip my life of the idea that anything in Forever 21 will fit.
I am harvesting–taking in and examining–all the fruit of the ideas that grew in my thought garden to see what I will preserve, take cuttings or seed from and what I will compost. The idea that I have intrinsic worth apart from and exclusive of my net worth gets preserved by the gallon. The idea of tagging myself “damaged goods” because I do not meet all the “must have’s” on a job description gets bagged for the curb. Autumn is such an awesome season so full of creative chaos that it has to be the earth’s studio where she makes the beauty of the rest of the year.