“Revelations come, post-summer. Some call it “stick season”, a slightly derogatory term, but I call think of it as “return season”, or perhaps, “the slow silencing of chatter”. Part of a cycle, not devoid of comfort, as fires are kindled again, and we turn inward, to ponder what the whole of another year has wrought. What we might have passed over, reveling in summer dreams, tucking beneath us, the swift gains, as well as devastating losses, we couldn’t fathom at the time, or feel fully, until forced to quiet our minds. I admit, being a bit unsettled, is a given. It’s time to wrestle, not with lawn mowers, or grandiose plans, but with goals not met, and fantasies, unfulfilled. But I don’t view as a dark time, at all. My December birthday, landing practically upon the solstice, but just a smidge before, may give me vague authority to speak on the subject. It is a time, of lights. Twinkling ones, not bold sun rays, that bake the earth. No, I notice, instead, the skip of my heart, passing trailer homes, festooned with odd blinking displays, and the suddenly garish hillsides, lit like Hollywood sets, minutes shy of nightfall, unreal and murkily perfomative. The rain, that turns instantly, to sleet, hitting the windshield, clacking softly, as the glass begins to fog. We’re still trying to work the soil, until freezing shuts us down. Fighting against bad weather reports, making our best guesses, like bets, trying to arrogantly push the growing season, just one more day in our favor. But death abounds, the great closing down, of topside life, and its not unwarranted. We are so much more than this, but we are stewards of it, none-the-less. Being here is the experience, of being in a natural rhythm, all the way around. We should stand proud. No one else is stepping up to do it, and no extra-terrestrial has a clue. It is ours, and ours alone, with the implicit participation of every, biological, living thing on the planet. No other beings we know of, can do it, from the vantage point of human consciousness. Not superior, but uniquely tasked, to be librarians, and conservators, of earth’s nature, and most basic functions. The mundane things we enjoy, like stopping for coffee, or sitting in a warm truck, or wanting to save plants, or looking forward to reuniting with a dog at home. These are the arts, of human. In every small way we indemnify each other from hurt, and rally to support the humble efforts of all those who fall short, it is ourselves we are bolstering. Something as unpremeditated as a smile, may change a giant trajectory, that was not headed well. This post started, on my drive back up the mountain, after a postal worker looked me in the eye today, and gave me a genuine smile. Something I had not received from a stranger in a long, long time. Kudos to him, and kudos to me for telling you, it’s that simple. One gesture, can re-hinge the swing of your day, the outcome, of your next operation. Don’t think you need anything more.”
