Learning to Let Go
The hardest part of growth can be creating the space for it to begin
The wind blows, and I am cleaning in the garden. The air is cold. My wool sweater wicks the sweat from my body as I pull at the weeds I let pile up. Somehow, I am warm even in the cool wind floating over my canvas coat. My love for Autumn runs deep just like the weeds that need removing from the space between all that grew. They have rooted deep and wide through the garden and all I desire is for them to let go in the same way the trees are with their leaves to make this transition of the seasons that much easier.
I am clearing space for the garlic and I will plant it like the hope I plant in my soul for the spring to come again. A sign of my trust in the cycles in nature. I stop momentarily to watch the trees release their leaves with the gust of wind in the sunlight. The smell of snow isn't far off in the wind, even though the sky is clear. I know well enough that November won't arrive without some of the first flakes. Before that scent of snow hits me, I watch the leaves release from their branches and dance in the wind in all their splendor—the brown and dormant plants in the garden wave in the wind. For a moment, there is an essence that we all are dancing amongst the end and I love feeling part of the natural world in these moments. The faded, withered sunflowers still stand in the wind and catch some of the leaves while the chickadee snacks away on her seeds, hanging on, knowing her life this winter depends on the seeds she eats.
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