and the season was...

home has been, these past 7 weeks, like how I imagine a long kiss goodbye. bitter-sweet, full of emotion and resignation. filled with land-mark experiences and last-time experiences. having the feeling of truly breaking away and moving on, while leaving only those strands of my life here connected which are the most true, strong and permanent.

it has been like autumn when you watch the leaves begin to change color and slowly drop to the ground. and in this watching, whether willing or not, the season changes and cool nights turn to icy cold. at last even the strongest leaves succumb to winter winds and blow away. change and beauty and climax and resolve and the steady, unfailing consistancy that time has to continue minute after minute; never slowing or speeding up to effect a different outcome.

being at home this season has been comfortable and reassuring, but not in that tucked in by the fire sort of way. comforting in the way that you are acutely aware of the texture of a wooden railing if it is the last thing you will touch before you jump from solid bridge to moving water below. that kind of comfort where you can touch something you know and then knowingly let go because it has served its purpose. to balance you until ready.

the series of returns I have made to this place where I grew up, where my family makes its home, has had many chapters full of discovery and growth and a lot of distractions, compromise, questions and dead ends. Each time I pass though this place has held something for me in the season. Now, for the first time, even though I never love saying goodbye to all this, I feel that I can let go because here holds no more for me now. it's a large page to turn and it's not without mourning, but it has an eerie yet exciting feeling of permanence. Like the word home has been chizzled off this place and it is ready to be rehung.

Denver.

thinking thoughts

it happens all the time. a moment of inspiration or a question i'd like to ponder will buzz around in the back of my head like a fly at a window. and then something interrupts this thought, and the fly finds a crack in the window and is lost to the outdoors which is my subconscious. is it narcissistic of me to find these thoughts entertaining and be disappointed to search my memory and find them gone, unprocessed? well, if so then call it my guilty pleasure.
is this inability to hang onto what seems important and worth exploring at the time another tell tale sign of my aging mind? I have never feared or loather growing old, but i wont't argue that it isn't inconvenient. I'm learning this at 22. To my knowledge i dont have wrinkles yet, but my ability to remember everything and never sleep if i dont want to is quickly fading. Is it time to start doing crossword puzzles and getting into bed by 10?
I hope not.
so, this is the explanation why ten minutes ago i thought i had all the makings of a deep, inspirational blog, and now I have only the question of where it's gone.
lame.