Wednesday, October 10, 2012

brittle-tongued and barren

Melancholy has set in. This is either because I can't decipher the driver's license renewal application form (cue a call to mom), or because it's a rainy day outside, and I noticed recently that my moods have been scarily in sync with the weather recently (emotions on feelings on emotions).
Another thing I noticed yesterday that a ring that usually sits on my right hand went missing.
If there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's losing things.
When things go missing, that's when my needy little heart shows. I get all tense and high-strung. The stress of not knowing where something I love has gone overwhelms me like a series of tsunamis. I'm a rather possessive person. And losing something strikes me right there at my jealous core.

Autumn is good for me. Because it is such a delicate, transitory season. There are a few weeks, or just days even, where autumn is in full, glorious swing. Every single leaf calls my name, each leaf's beauty shouting out for me to look at it, notice it, and love it. I want to hold onto each one. The back of my calendar is filled with a mini-forest of leaves that I've collected. I have only to open up my schedule and I have a little bit of autumn in my hands. The smell of autumn leaves is the best. But even as I hold the little ruby red leaf in my hands and savor its smell, I can feel how brittle the leaf is. 
It's not mine to hold onto.

My usual reaction to this would be to never take another leaf. 
To just leave it on the ground and admire its beauty from afar. I get just as much enjoyment out of seeing the leaf in its natural setting, happily sitting on the ground, surrounded by its fellow brilliant-hued little leaf friends. I can pick up the leaf, marvel at it, perhaps take a picture of it, and then set it down and leave it behind. 
I can just stifle the part of me that just wants to grab the little leaf and take it home with me and press it in the back of my calendar. Because that part of me that loves to hold onto things can so easily turn into the part of me that loves to selfishly cling to things; things like autumn leaves, which are, in their essence things designed to float away and fall away. It terrifies me how powerful the clinging part of my heart is. The seasons teach us that good-byes are a natural and ubiquitous part of living. And good-byes are much easier if there's nothing you have to let go of when you say good-bye. If you just leave all the leaves on the ground and never take any of them for keeps, then parting is not such a bitter sorrow.

Yet I still have my collection of leaves in the back of my calendar. 

1 comment:

  1. http://theotherausten.tumblr.com/post/33102883128/it-is-not-everyone-said-elinor-who-has-your

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