That 'One Day'

    Today it’s actually blustery with the sun peeking out as it chooses. Blustery feels weird after being drenched in sun and warm temperatures. Oh, I've come to that ‘one day’. I do this every fall. It takes that one day that feels a certain way to convince me that summer is over. All summer and fall I do my best to soak up all the sunshine that I can. I don’t mean on my body, I am actually quite pasty. But I always try this “direct-to-brain-mega download” Of the sun and the bright colors of the flowers and the smell of summer breezes. I try so hard every year to save it up like pennies in a bank. I tell myself, if I can just remember the way the sunlight looks filtering through the wisteria, if I could just really feel it, then I could chase away the icy, gray malaise that steels over me in the bare winter months.
     Today is lovely. It is the kind of fall day that apologizes profusely about the bare bones of the winter that is fast approaching. The wind chimes are gentle but insistent. I love that. They, also tell me that this luminously light wind is today’s gift. But I cannot help it; I want to collect it in lots of jars with bits of bright petals and leaves of scarlet and gold. Then I could put it up on a shelf the way that people do who can peaches and tomatoes and green beans. I want to be able to stare at the jars in the winter and watch as the sunny breezes swirl around inside the them making the colors dance and glow. It would be better than any movie and even most books. I could watch it for hours.
      Why in the world do people like snow globes? If I could, I would invent a summer globe (batteries included) where sunlight and gentle breezes ruffle the leaves of tiny little trees, and wee little flowers glow in the sun and sway in the breezes when you turn it upside down. Not quite the same as saving the bright days of summer and fall in jars, but maybe a tiny bit more practical.
   So I am in the moment of my ‘one day’. I am in the process of acceptance.  It is amazing how stubborn my soul is about it. The trees keep rustling and whispering to me, inviting me out to try and reason with me. They want me to come out so they can tell me it’s okay. They know they will be back in all of their glory in the spring. They tell me ‘we are letting go’ as their leaves begin to float and swirl. We are tired; winter is a good time for us. We have all of that sunshine stored up inside of us, even if you don’t. They are so much more patient than I am. I wish I were that wise. But you know, I also still wish I had my rows and rows of jars.

Tonya Willman ©2010