The Conscription of September

 I woke on a dark morning. It was September, the air was chilled, and reality sounded like air-raid sirens warning that I had been deceived. The summer which seemed eternal was only a dream. No wood in the shed yet and a summer's worth of dire projects yet to be started, what happened?

Panic season begins suddenly. It is the annual realization that there are only moments left. It was summer, and we were all rejoicing in it, and then the 99 red balloons drifted over the wall and I knew, this was it.

You would think that I would learn. September is always the same unless you are looking at the Laguna Madre, but even then, December comes. It is a gravity, and you do not get to escape it. You cannot opt-out.

Many months ago I filled this month's calendar with things to do, never thinking about the things that would be undone. Painting myself into a corner that if I do not follow through, I will have regrets.

I stopped at the top of the hill in the crisp cool morning, I thought about what we lost on this last journey around the sun.  Karen, Wayne, Henry, and Joan. We are taking this one without you, but we still remember.  It has been a long journey and in some ways I was only 7 years old moments ago.

Then it was 1975.  I can hear the airwaves as they once sounded, I can smell the air of those days. I can hear every creak in the floor, door closing, fluorescent light humming, and steam radiator banging.

Every moment is indeed precious. There is something that can be made in every one of them. To sit while the world spins and screams through the universe cannot be allowed to happen.

 

You may wonder why all the contrast. Honestly, it is because I AM NOT READY. I really am not. Every moment needs a name.  Every single one. This is just me, having my annual tantrum because I did not understand how short a summer can be once again. I never learn and I am sure that I never will.

 My heart cries out for you Summer. You were there a moment ago and now I am not even sure you ever existed other than in a story that was told to me long ago. Was it a dream? I swear it wasn't. <sigh>

Slow dancing in Panic Season

 The season of panic stalks me with its outward and blatant threats, and it is those that it pretends are not there that concern me.  I find myself dealing with the obvious ones, those that can be seen, but below the counter, I fortify my hands to deal with all of the others.  I remember that the only answer is to jump, nothing else works. You do not have to be my age to know this, well, unless you are me.

In the dawn of a new day, I know the urgency, and yet feel restrained to do anything about it. We are just out here walking the razor edge, trying not to fall into inaction, into notice, into line for something that we know is there and know is no good.

As the light of day shines on the land around I can see how threatening everything is. Traps exist as far as the eyes can see. Hazards lie under the eves if we make too much noise.  Suddenly a great distraction off in the distance.  It separates lives with a line not before seen. It happens so quickly that again, you cannot act surprised.  Shut up and stay quiet.

There is power in visually focusing on the trivial things in life.  To take the order and seemingly swallow the pills they hand out with no thought about it whatsoever. Let the shallow just keep walking.  

So there it is.  I am not apathetic, I am so aware of what really lies outside now. This is me, keeping my calm, keeping my head, and eyes wide open, slow dancing in Panic Season.