I am not gifted with flora. I do not find solace in tending to shrubs and trees and flowers. It is purely a chore for me.
And so when I lopped off the top of the dead lavender plants this evening, revealing a tidy, controlled space without gregarious bushes flopping onto the front path, I was pleased.
It’s fall now. Cool weather is here. A dry leaf scuttling across the street in a wind gust sends a twinge of anticipation through me.
It used to be that Thanksgiving and Christmas pulled at me magnetically through the fall months. But now holidays are hard. Disabilities and busy, expectation-charged holidays are an explosive combination.
But holiday stress aside, I still feel alive when the weather turns.
Winter’s approach is cold and menacing. It bodes poorly for the house where Jack lives. It means no more jumping on the trampoline with bare feet. It means being a sensory-seeker stuck inside too much all winter long.
All these things about cold weather prick me with fear.
And yet, October makes me happy. November too.
I can’t help it.