Autumn : September

September arrived and reminded me coyly that the first three weeks are technically still summer. It was a hot month. I struggled to not take it as a personal affront that the weather refused to cool gently and quietly the closer we got to the Autumnal equinox. As long as I am inside I can believe it is fall. The leaves drift from the trees, the sun slants at more of an angle everyday, and I am surprised in the evening by the darkness’ quick descent. My garden grows more and more wild since I am not out there tearing out tired plants or training unruly vines. I finally did some work on the morning glory taking over the porch so the mail lady can once more see the front door.

To celebrate the arrival of the new season we went camping on the peninsula. Walking down the boardwalk, through towering pine trees, that first glimpse of the ocean took my breath away. I walked out into the waves and tears sprang to my eyes. The pelicans were fishing in the evening light and dolphins came in to greet us. We spent an entire day playing in the waves and sand. I never feel more myself than when I am at the water’s edge. Our last morning we ventured down early with coffee mugs in hand and each of us settled into the quiet solace of early sunlight at the ocean side. The children played quietly as Ben and I walked opposite directions along the tide line, thinking our own thoughts. It is so easy, there on the beach, to be close to someone while not saying a word; the wind and sun and waves breathing an easy communion into open spaces.

Earlier in the month I had picked up a copy of Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh at the thrift store. Long a favorite, I knew I needed its presence on my shelf. When we returned from the coast I picked it up and have been enjoying it just as much as I always do.

“Moon shell… you will remind me that unless I keep the island-quality intact somewhere within me, I will have little to give…” Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I continue to feel my way forward with these ideas of intentional community. It is so good to share space, heartbreaks, triumphs, and laughter. It is healing in so many ways. I am resting in the safe places we are finding together while also being eager to grow our group and share the joy and wholeness I am finding.

I am ready to settle into the cooler weather and all that it brings: more hikes, more sourdough bread, soups, pies, teas, uncluttered spaces both inside and in the garden. I do not know if the pace of life will actually slow but I think it will feel slower somehow. It is the beginning of the pondering time and for that long moment in the sun as four small children and I watch the world prepare for its rest.