Friday, October 9, 2015

October 2

The night before E was born, I took my big belly out into the front yard and dug some shallow holes in the pitch black of night.  Every Oct. 2 since then, E and I have planted our own bulbs.
There's something so different about planting in the fall. Spring planting coincides with the waking of the earth, living things bursting forth from every crack in the sidewalk whether we ask them to or not, encouraging our little intentions to bear along side them.  In autumn, the world is warning us, in all its beauty, that everything is dying. Plants draw inward or disappear completely. The earth grows so quiet and still.
 Planting at this time helps me remember. I remember that darkness will be followed by light, and that new life will always appear, charging through the cold and pulling us into spring. This small act of faith reminds me that the fervent summer is only cherished insomuch as it is rare. These bulbs will not bear unless they are given a long, cold, quiet winter first.
There is a time for all things.

I'm thinking of you always. Come follow along on instagram, if you're so inclined.

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