Mirrorless Reflections

These days I come home from work dusty to the knees, exhausted to the bone. I feel a bit emaciated because I walk more in a day than I have an appetite to keep up with. My hands reveal my involvement in some blueberry massacre. My nails are permanently yellow from peeling onions, pulling apart rocks of feta cheese, slicing salami, rolling balls of chocolate and feeding people delicious, organic food. (Okay, no...on my days off I manage to get them clean again, but it's almost in vain.)

Burns and scraps run up and down my arms; my palms catch on the teeth of the cheese grater every now and then, and sometimes the knife just slips and the plastic-wrap contraption falls directly onto my forearm with its saw digging into my flesh. Perhaps I appear mishandled, emo, homeless, depressed or deprived? On the contrary I am so full of life and love that I don't have to stop and consult a mirror for reassurance that I am okay.

***Strange invention—by the way—the mirror. It can become quite an addiction. We so easily become obsessed with our appearance, and looking at ourselves seems to give us a sense of security. I understand it completely, but it's a relief to not have time to look in the mirror every now and then, and just to go by feeling. Do I feel good? If so then I am good. Do I feel sick? If so, I am sick. I think I haven't had enough time to form true opinions about this, but it's a little food for thought.***

The enchanting smell of mushrooms lingers on my skin, on my calves; alluring and wild, and dangerous; woven with misty sky into my hair. I'm alive.

I am so alive, even as the last raspberry has shriveled and fallen by my dewey footsteps to the slugs, and the fields have been set to rest in their finest brown. My nostrils flare and slurp up the smell of rain, and in the distance I see mist rising from the evening lakes. It's getting darker, cooler but I will survive.

I can't believe this drawn-out glory of summer. We're four days into September and the sun is shining, 22 degrees. I am going out for ice cream today. What luck! The earth is so good to us. Crunchy footsteps follow me home and it's almost too good to be true that the rain hasn't stayed. I wake up every morning feeling like it won't be back, and at work I'm worried that winter is going to attack while I'm not looking. But it doesn't. Like I said, it's too good to be true. Maybe it's all a dream. I'm just so grateful for whatever the day brings; red leaves and sunshine, or mist and cuddles, it's all good. It's all happening and it's all just a part of this great life.

Last year around this time I first said that I loved September. Then my family collapsed into a dramatic war, my heart got broken and it seemed like the world just couldn't get any worse. I felt like my life was crumbling into ruins around me and I had no power to stop it. That's when I changed my mind and said I hated September, that it was actually the worst month of the year. I was being unfair. I'm sorry September, I now remember why I said I loved you in the first place. I do love September. There is this whimsical, warm and cold feeling. It's teetering on the edge of fall, but still holding on to summer. September puts my thinking cap on and my brain fires like jet, bchuuuuuuah! I can't stop thinking, can't stop writing and just let the follow of thoughts be as alive as they are. The harvest is on and the colors are outrageous! I want to tumble in colors and life-ness and alive-ity and squeeze my hands into fists and giggle at how much life there is around me.