“And don’t
you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye?”
(Mary Oliver, “Song for Autumn”)
Transitions. Liminal Space. Thresholds. The end of one season and the beginnings of another. What is true in the landscape around me, is true within my soul. There is much to delight in at this time of year. The gift of harvest, bringing in what we’ve worked hard for all season. The yellow of goldenrod, sunflowers, aspen leaves. The cooler evenings and the sunrises. Yet, I find myself saying goodbye. I find myself grieving the summer days–the road trips, visits with family and friends, hiking new landscapes, the wildflowers, and the birdsongs. And perhaps this is all very normal, but this year the grief has been amplified by change, and most of these changes have been quite wonderful. I have a new title, Grandma! I can’t quite put into words how I feel about this amazing gift, but all I know is that this is Love, Love in its truest form.
These profound shifts have left me grasping for a new language to describe what is going inside and around me. The phrase “let go” has been pulsing through me the last several days. And as a contemplate letting go, I see the world with fresh eyes. The trees dance in the wind; their letting go is not one of resistance, but of complete surrender. Perhaps because they have no choice, but maybe because they know something we do not. Or they have something to teach us. So instead of hanging onto what was, I will embrace the shedding of my leaves, the parts no longer needed for what is next. I will dance with celebration, and clap with joy, just as the aspens do. I will let my goodbyes be as yellow as the goldenrod and sunflower.
Lara Dawn Pottery 