So...this may be it. I always pride myself in being able to smell the change of season, but this time, for whatever reason, I've missed it.
Like many people, I'm secretly glad. Love seeing the sun, hate being in it. I like tights, jacket and snood weather. Not having freak outs every time I may have to show a bare limb. Boots. And again, like many people, I enjoy the symbolism of Autumn. I've felt for some months that I've been in a kind of hibernation, regrouping, reassessing, going through some kind of minor metamorphosis, and now the season reflects that process. At the same time Autumn makes me feel like I'm coming back to myself; I'm the colour of autumn, I'm built for cooler weather, and that Vermont-esque beauty of turning trees makes me heart soar like no 30° heat ever can.
It is time for me to let the dead things go. People, sadnesses, memories, hang-ups, even old Joannas in their many costumes and guises and behind their many masks. More than any other time, it feels like starting again from scratch: new exposed skin, unshaped persona, a gaining of self-perception and formation of a voice. Friends and family reassuring in their consistency, anchoring.
There are many threads that have run through my relationships and time. It feels like nimbly plucking all the thick, red threads from among the tangle to stitch together someone new and whole. It's at once intricate and beautifully simple, laborious and dream-like. It can't be rushed, but by the time the last leaf falls - the last dead thing - it will be more tangible, more cohesive, more authentic.