a new tack

I know it's fall because I have the incredible need to colour-coordinate my drawers, find places for errant pieces of paper, sign all documents, throw away summer's stragglers, work out regularly, drink green tea, and buy turtleneck sweaters.

This summer was mild and the crisp cool of these late September mornings has overtaken the docile heat easily. I have a simultaneous sense of hope and of despair. And in that despair there is the desire to grasp loose threads and make something of them, or to do away with them. So bring on the hearty bowls of oatmeal, and a non-negotiable 10 pm bedtime on school nights. I am preparing for a battle of epic proportions, and I'll need my strength.

Everything is fleeting and temporary and subject to gravity. I am no different.

Yesterday, I felt like the most simple, declarative sentences were punching me in the chest. And I felt afraid—wanted to run for cover—of everything. That is not love, not the disposition toward love. Perfect love does not have fear in it. Perfect love does not want to hide from true things.

I read once that whenever you are afraid, you need to change something. I am summer's straggler. I am my own loose end.