.....messy

Yogis,
It’s an October morning and I’m sweeping the walk. Damp leaves, pine needles and cut grass matted on the entire length of the sidewalk from the rain last night. Side to side I move the broom. The swish of the broom against the flagstone creates a rhythm as I clear a path. Swish. Swish. Swish. I look back at my work and it is pleasing to the eye.

The lawn is littered with sticks from grandfather oak above. I grab a lawn bag and begin the first of this season’s many games of ‘pick up sticks.’ When the boys were young I would send them out this time of year and offer a dollar amount for every bag they filled. Now the bend, lean, reach and lift is up to me. I must be careful not to step in the piles of round pellets left behind by the deer who are currently ravaging my greenery.

I head to the car to run errands. Before getting in I pull out the dried leaves that are trapped under the windshield wipers and stuck in the crevices where the windows meet the car door. If not, I will have them flapping in the wind my whole way, like those cards we used to put in our bike spokes.  I notice the stains from the flocks who have passed through, pausing on grandfather oak to squawk and gorge themselves on nuts. A drumroll on the roof as I back up and hundreds of acorns spill off.

I brush the cobwebs from between the front porch wood rails. They stick to the brush. I pull them off the brush and they are now stuck to my fingers. I rub my hands through the grass.

The gardens need trimming as goldenrods heavy heads have her bowing down across the path. Dried brown zinnia heads create a jarring juxtaposition to the vivid Mexican sunflower just now opening. A late arrival to a party that is clearly winding down. I pick up berries that have fallen from the honeysuckle to deter her spread and find my fingers stained red. Every seed in the garden wants to hitchhike a ride on my sweater.

I will do all of this today and tomorrow there will be no evidence of my efforts. Fall is messy.

The messiness on the outside is also reflected on the inside. On colder mornings my bones feel like those sticks as I wake up a bit creakier. My body yearning to stretch. My hands suddenly drying like the leaves as I try to remember what I use to moisten them.

Emotions too are messy in fall. Like the temperatures they lift high one day only to drop the next. Do I go for a walk or cuddle on the couch with a book? Joy and sadness both holding residence in this form I call a body. Daily practices to sweep out the cobwebs and clear a path, which very well may be covered again tomorrow.

There is nothing to ‘fix.’ It simply is.

Fall is gloriously messy. Life is gloriously messy.

Stepping over the broken walnut shells,
SARAH