I'm laughing a bit to myself, trying to think of a way to explain this: I've always felt that the months of the year begin to weigh more starting around September. In my mind, they must be heavier because if you stacked them, these would be closest to the ground, pushed down all the more by those gone by. Because they're so heavy, they rush past. Days and weeks begin to unspool so quickly, it feels hard sometimes to get a meaningful grip on them.
This August and September, loss after loss tumbled through our lives. We're still rocked by a wake of sadness after having to make the impossible decision to put our dog Samson to sleep – I'm astonished at the brutality of how quickly life can change in two hours – bookended by added challenges like illness and surgery, anxiety and deadlines.
I've always liked the term "circle the wagons" – problematic though its roots in western expansion are. But that's essentially what we've been doing since the last time I was here. The wolves have visited our door more than once in the recent weeks, and we're doing our best to protect our home while meeting them headlong. I find great strength imagining myself straddling the dark and light, defending my family from the newest emergency that has slinked through the shadows to our doorstep. In that way I've been feeling oddly empowered. I'm getting tired, though, and find myself searching hungrily for signs that we're almost through the gauntlet (we are).
I'll be back soon. I have some knitting to show you, and who knows, I might bake more French macarons before the snow comes. In the meantime, I've been posting with more regularity on Instagram. We'll catch up soon.
