Fall. The season, and the action. This will be my 32nd fall, and I've fallen more times than I can count. Than I care to count.
"You see, falling's not the problem, when I'm falling I'm at peace, it's only when I hit the ground that causes all the grief..." -Florence and the Machine
There's not a lot of positive ways to fall, when you think about it... We fall in love, that's a good one, but we fall out of love, too. We fall from grace and fall ill. Fall in the opinions of others. Fall from pedestals and fall out with friends. Fall to our knees and fall into despair and fall into depressions.
It seems unfair for such a gentle season to share a name with such a bruising action.
I've been awake since before the sun rose, daydreaming (is it daydreaming if it's not daylight yet?) and singing snippets of songs in my head.
I wrote one, a long time ago, my broken heart poured out onto a page and from my lungs into the air. It was loud and angry and aggressive, shouting my hurt. Now, all these years later, I want to re-write it for the softer, more yearning broken heart I carry now from more recent falls.
"Was I worth what you got for me? Would you do it again? I'm alone now... And you let me down so easy..." -Heather Rowe
Rewrite the fury into a ballad. Maybe that's what growing up looks like.
I'm ready for a good fall this year. For a quiet season of changing, and then for the silent deep slumber of winter. I need the rest (there's another good word with a lot of interesting meanings). And then will come spring, with rebirth and growth and hope, and I hope I'll be ready for it.
I love the way autumn smells faintly of rot and moldering leaves... New life is always preceded by death, and after death always comes decay.
