This color is ridiculous.
I drink hot herbal tea and try to resist the urge to pick up each and every perfect leaf. I resist the urgency to absorb the season around me. It seems to be moving fast through the change. Once it is done winter will be here and I don't want to think about that. Yet.
I want to but I haven't been able to completely relax on the bench. Every time I look at it I think about the cushy quilt like thing I want to make for the seat. Sure the bench is already getting its cozy on but I sit across the fire pit from it and consider its character and my own. I learned a lot from that project and I learned a lot about myself. I've learned that I can lean far over to being a perfectionist and I also can let it go. These days there isn't so much angst in the settling for "good enough". Because the bench itself is sheer perfection sitting in its woodland setting.
I try really hard to slow down, resist the tugging change of the season. Even as I'm painfully aware of all that is ending. The farmers market will be closing and the little one won't be seeing her little Mennonite friend over the cold winter and I won't be seeing her mother who has inspired me with her lap quilts and handmade dresses. The daytime temps will drop to the point of preventing us from going out on the river. The experience of sharing summer with a five-year-old girl has come and gone.
As I start to slow it down I realize somehow our woodland retreat has become so much more than a quick getaway from the city. Through our child we are interacting so much more with the locals in the region: the farmers, the bee keepers, the furniture makers, the Hmong, the Mennonite, the white family who has a part-Native grandchild in their midst, the owner of the Mexican restaurant in town, the tough old Wisconsin women that run all the restaurant-bars that are nestled off to the side of long stretches of wood-lined roads. There is a surprising amount of diversity in town. We add to that and it makes me feel like I belong. I have a relationship with this land, the local people, the wandering animals and birds. I feel more present and in those moments the experience becomes so much more intense. I experience each moment in a way that makes up for not being able to muster all those perfect autumn leaves drifting and falling to the ground.
I am changing as much as my growing daughter. I'm changing rapidly with the speed of the season. I feel like my only satisfying response is to slow everything else down. Slow enough to absorb the vibration of all the changes. I don't know what it all means right now but I think that's the right path for me.
I do think I need another project though. Soon.