Autumn has arrived in the Pacific NW. That certain crispness in the air that nips at you when you walk out the door pre-dawn. The crunch of leaves underfoot that creates wildness even in urban settings. And my favorite—morning fog rising like steam from the valley up to The Summit when I take my morning walk. Summer seemed to last f o r e v e r. And even unseasonably hot days continue to float into the forecast and suddenly I’m wearing shorts again for a day or two. But night is overtaking day earlier and cools off the heat with its breath. And I say to myself, “You made it.”
Lesson From My Mentor, Grief: Sitting With Discomfort While Embracing Beauty
Tulips began erupting from their sleek oval bulbs in April. Long stems hugged by thick winged leaves, one flower per stem. Colors the pastel pink of tongues, the vibrant red of heartbeats, the cream of moonbeams, the yellow of lemon drops held in cupped hands. Tulips surpassing their daffodil bulbed relations with a flourish by month’s end. One completing their laborious cycle, having awakened in late winter with tips barely gracing the earth to now drooping in browned petaled demise, waiting to fall back into dormancy. The other, as their cycle nears completion, throws open their petals with wild abandon, tossing them to the ground one-by-one leaving the stem bewildered, naked for all to see. Daffodils, my heart flower, resonates with the steadfastness that is the root of me. And yet, in slowing my pace during this pandemic time, the allure of tulips is calling to the wild in me. A wild that keeps bobbing to the surface with greater frequency with each passing year.
