It’s morning. It’s early September. There are leaves all over the yard from the squirrels and the rain. The windows are wide open and I’m listening to the rustle of leaves and my wind chimes singing from the front porch… and feeling the chilly breeze blow through. Hands wrapped around my coffee cup (coffee hot this morning, not iced… Sheetz winter blend). Morning… fall… 🙂
Yesterday I decorated my office window with clings… sun flowers, scare crows, autumn leaves. Just around the edges though. I don’t want to block the view of the river and the ships. It was good.
I have my Amish country candle lit (why does maple syrup make me think of fall… it’s an early spring thing).
I get to see fall this year. I missed 90% of it last year. This year I get to be in the north east to see everything. I get to see and smell and be in the middle of. It’s wonderful to know that.
Again this year in the rain and the chilly weather, we went and walked around at The Yankee Peddler. The smell of wood smoke mixed with fall foods and wet woods was a balm to a soul.
There was a girl there with her mom. The girl was probably early 20s. The mom was stressing over her daughter being so cold because Raynaud’s was playing havoc on her fingers. They were looking at the fleece mittens to try to get the girl’s hands to warm sufficiently to not ruin the day. We chatted about the shades of the aches and pains, the numbness and the way that the beauty of fall can be bitten away by the chill of a September rain.
It’s easy to forget, and easier to be reminded, that there are an awful lot of ‘us’ out there who have the same struggles, who walk some of the same walk, who deal with much of the same crap. I get reminded, frequently, during my infusion sessions at the clinic because often there are others there who have the same bags hung on hooks that I have. Others have different bags. Different bags, different drug, different struggles, but we are all so much alike… all struggling with something or other. All walking the walk and dealing with the daily stuff.
Sometimes I get lost in the stuff. Sometimes I have other stuff heaped so high on me that I can’t even see my own stuff let alone the stuff that is of others. Sometimes it is very important to remember not to forget.
Author: April Wells
Updated September 15, 2015