Life, Death, and a Hint of What We Feel In Between

on seasons

“Why do they call it ‘fall,’” asked bear, “when there’s way more to it?”

Mobile: Fireleaf Red

Thoughts while making

Her name is Sadness, and she presses cold against the window.

Her name is Darkness, and she comes early, stays late.

Her name is Pain, and she gathers in the corners, quiet and unseen.

Her name is Laughter, and she wobbles along the sidewalk on unsteady feet, a toddler wrapped from head to toe.

Her name is Warmth, and she tucks in safely beside you, where words are no longer needed.

Her name is Memory, and she shifts and sparks a thousand stories, crackling with logs in a fireplace.

Her name is Heartache, and she lingers just out of reach, shadows of a guest you once welcomed who now won’t leave.

Her name is Breath, of pine, decay, and damp, of soup, incense, and love, filling your lungs, your thoughts.

Her name is Silence, and she walks on tiptoes, a riot of colored leaves crisping and crackling under her feet.

Her name is Wonder, and she stands in awe of you, of me, like a child feeling her hand in yours for the very first time.

Her name is Loss, and she is hollow and empty yet full, echoes of what was, just out of reach, but always there.

Her name is Hope, and she rises with the purple-red sun after long, hard nights, she comes in tears, in letting go, and holding even more firmly.

Her name is Love, and she is complicated and confusing like a tornado, yet she is cellular and deep and everything like the blood that courses through your body.

She is fall and soon to be winter, and she arrives no matter if we’re ready or not, a season where we’re laid bare like trees to feel what we’re meant to feel, if we only slow down and listen.

What do you hear in the spaces between?

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Doodles, Doubt, and Reclaiming Your Creativity

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Stillness, Stars, and the Enduring Magic of Fall Colors