Circles

So.  I’ve had quite the summer.  It was like any other, in respect to ignoring the heat, the sweat and the endless cheer of scantily clothed, summer lovers.  My reading taste is spot-on from the previous few summers.  Non-fiction.  Memoirs and women who have found their voices.  More on that later.IMG-20110817-00034

The wonderful news I have to tell you, is that the mornings have been changing.  Have you felt it?  Just in the last week, or so.  The air has carried an autumn chill.  Promising.  I love fall.  I am most alive when the Earth slows itself to a lull and quiets its branches and roots.  I am ringing in the new season with fantasies of a Halloween party complete with apple-bobbing and autumn bon-fires.  I have Feist on repeat.  Metals.  It is the way of fall, for me.  It is the lingering notes and vocals like the lingering rain on leaves in grass and the dark tree trunks.  Uff.  I miss Duluth.  Will I survive, here?

My room is now completely set up, sans a few items which are in storage at the parental’s home a few hours away.  My bike…ahem…my right arm…is there, as well.  I will be glad to have my metal appendage back in my possession.  I have pale, yellow walls.  The cheapest of cheap bed frames from IKEA.  I have books lining the walls.  I bought a rocking chair from a young mother’s July garage sale.  It fit perfectly in the backseat of my car and has already brought so much joy to me in this time of transition.

It feels weird, all of this.  I feel as though I have been spinning and spinning.  With my arms flailing about me and my dress all puffed around my thighs.  Now, I have stopped.  And the world spins, though my body is still.  So, I just sit in my new room.  Waiting this out.  Waiting for this place to feel like home.  Waiting for the responsibilities to kick in.  Waiting on the world to still and my life (and pocketbook) to regain equilibrium.

It has been a crazy, fast summer.  I am so content.  My wanderlust has temporarily subsided.  I am ready for settling.  I am ready for school.  I am ready for ‘home.’

But what and how
To find us now
When we’ve become two
Fluorescently blue
Down the neon river
The sadness canoes
Either without or with her

“The Bad In Each Other”

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