Neither Hiro, who attended Bellevue College from 1998 to 2002, nor I, his perennial chauffeur back in those days, found much to recognize during our visit today. Although the campus still occupies the same corner of land, perched above Bellevue's Eastgate neighborhood, that it did back then, the buildings have multiplied (and continue to do so, judging by the ongoing construction).
Rain threatened, and the unexpected cold had us shivering in our hoodies as we wandered from one end of the campus (where volunteers barred us from entering the rakugo show we had hoped to attend during this year's Japan Festival—no more seats!) to the other. The autumn leaves there, golden rain trees, bigleaf maples, and tulip trees, are yellow, not as lackluster as the oaks that reveal nothing but dun hues come their turn later in the season, but far from the magic of sugar and Japanese maples in all their crimson and lantern-glow glory.
Spring might claim my palette—soft pinks, early purples, tentative yellows, palimpsest greens—but my heart always longs for autumn. Not in a pumpkin-spiced way, mind you, with Ugg boots and Insta-worthy outerwear, but in a home-for-Mabon, home-for-Samhain, home for the Solstice way: content to let the earth shrug off its summer energies, content to smell my husband's cooking as it bubbles on the stove, and content to huddle under blankets as the wind rattles our eaves, as surely as it does now.
The scent of sticky mats and sweaty feet fills the air. I sit on a carpet, likely teeming with countless germs. I'm typing on my computer, awaiting inspiration. I make an effort to write. Anything will do. Yet this prompt is all that comes to mind. I am torn between watching the energetic children bouncing on the blue mats and focusing on my screen. My screen, thankfully, wins the battle.
Writing this makes my back tense up. My posture is like a broken, old door hinge. I’ve always carried tension in my back and neck. It doesn't help that I keep slouching over the keyboard instead of sitting up straight. But life has weighed me down lately. Making itself at home in the contours of my muscles. Pushing and pulling me down until there’s nothing left to do but breathe through the spasms.
I look at all the kids whose bodies remain untouched by the burden of the world. Flexible and loose. I haven’t felt this loose since I was a child myself. I envy their fluidity. The freedom in throwing your body in the air and knowing it’ll catch you in the fall. I don’t wish to be younger but less burdened by the weight of responsibilities. Of awkward conversations. Of painful decisions. But that’s life, I guess. One endless back spasm after another.
Through the iron gate, always latching it behind and into the grass, towards the dirt dam as something catches me, Sunsetting, and the path stretches north to catch the gaze of a cow, 86, and her comrades close to the north barn. They’ll have their second calf soon.
Sunsetting as a chemistry, a dance, my legs begin to move towards a focal point and soon I am walking towards another iron fence, climbing upon it, sitting, watching and being Sunsetting together, facing north, facing east, taking it all in, giving joy and love and thanks back out.
The grasses that June’s rains have fed, now tan with heat, wave with fresh winds from the southeast that come in as if to say, “I’m here too, I wanna play! Witnessing you, witnessing the cows, seeing the shifts, being in love with a and creating a moment within this momentum. Sunsetting!!”
I mean, what would the winds really say? It’s not up to just me.
Exhaling, a softening within my system, with the others, like a good stretch. Connecting, womb to spirit with this moment, co-creating this Sunsetting. Being with the colors, changing. My cells dance and change the same color, mirroring the beauty all around. ((( reposted from my article, “Sunsetting” originally posted a few Junes back 🕊️
As I sat on my front stoop a few minutes after sunset, I exhaled for the first time that day. My cul da sac was quiet as usual, except for my neighbors heading home and a black and white cat crossing the street and entering my yard. A neighbor walking for exercise, talking on her phone briefly broke the silence. While sitting there, one by one the color-changing solar lights that I had placed on both sides of my stoop came on. Lighting my both my spirit and my yard with brilliant spirals of color.
Neither Hiro, who attended Bellevue College from 1998 to 2002, nor I, his perennial chauffeur back in those days, found much to recognize during our visit today. Although the campus still occupies the same corner of land, perched above Bellevue's Eastgate neighborhood, that it did back then, the buildings have multiplied (and continue to do so, judging by the ongoing construction).
Rain threatened, and the unexpected cold had us shivering in our hoodies as we wandered from one end of the campus (where volunteers barred us from entering the rakugo show we had hoped to attend during this year's Japan Festival—no more seats!) to the other. The autumn leaves there, golden rain trees, bigleaf maples, and tulip trees, are yellow, not as lackluster as the oaks that reveal nothing but dun hues come their turn later in the season, but far from the magic of sugar and Japanese maples in all their crimson and lantern-glow glory.
Spring might claim my palette—soft pinks, early purples, tentative yellows, palimpsest greens—but my heart always longs for autumn. Not in a pumpkin-spiced way, mind you, with Ugg boots and Insta-worthy outerwear, but in a home-for-Mabon, home-for-Samhain, home for the Solstice way: content to let the earth shrug off its summer energies, content to smell my husband's cooking as it bubbles on the stove, and content to huddle under blankets as the wind rattles our eaves, as surely as it does now.
The scent of sticky mats and sweaty feet fills the air. I sit on a carpet, likely teeming with countless germs. I'm typing on my computer, awaiting inspiration. I make an effort to write. Anything will do. Yet this prompt is all that comes to mind. I am torn between watching the energetic children bouncing on the blue mats and focusing on my screen. My screen, thankfully, wins the battle.
Writing this makes my back tense up. My posture is like a broken, old door hinge. I’ve always carried tension in my back and neck. It doesn't help that I keep slouching over the keyboard instead of sitting up straight. But life has weighed me down lately. Making itself at home in the contours of my muscles. Pushing and pulling me down until there’s nothing left to do but breathe through the spasms.
I look at all the kids whose bodies remain untouched by the burden of the world. Flexible and loose. I haven’t felt this loose since I was a child myself. I envy their fluidity. The freedom in throwing your body in the air and knowing it’ll catch you in the fall. I don’t wish to be younger but less burdened by the weight of responsibilities. Of awkward conversations. Of painful decisions. But that’s life, I guess. One endless back spasm after another.
Through the iron gate, always latching it behind and into the grass, towards the dirt dam as something catches me, Sunsetting, and the path stretches north to catch the gaze of a cow, 86, and her comrades close to the north barn. They’ll have their second calf soon.
Sunsetting as a chemistry, a dance, my legs begin to move towards a focal point and soon I am walking towards another iron fence, climbing upon it, sitting, watching and being Sunsetting together, facing north, facing east, taking it all in, giving joy and love and thanks back out.
The grasses that June’s rains have fed, now tan with heat, wave with fresh winds from the southeast that come in as if to say, “I’m here too, I wanna play! Witnessing you, witnessing the cows, seeing the shifts, being in love with a and creating a moment within this momentum. Sunsetting!!”
I mean, what would the winds really say? It’s not up to just me.
Exhaling, a softening within my system, with the others, like a good stretch. Connecting, womb to spirit with this moment, co-creating this Sunsetting. Being with the colors, changing. My cells dance and change the same color, mirroring the beauty all around. ((( reposted from my article, “Sunsetting” originally posted a few Junes back 🕊️
As I sat on my front stoop a few minutes after sunset, I exhaled for the first time that day. My cul da sac was quiet as usual, except for my neighbors heading home and a black and white cat crossing the street and entering my yard. A neighbor walking for exercise, talking on her phone briefly broke the silence. While sitting there, one by one the color-changing solar lights that I had placed on both sides of my stoop came on. Lighting my both my spirit and my yard with brilliant spirals of color.
Spirals of color is perfection. Thanks for sharing, Carol!