5 hours ago
“Falling Suns" - I grew up on the plains on the cusp of streams, ponds and lakes surrounded by varied lands of swamp reeds, prairie grass and oak templed forests. It was a childhood rich in seasonal textures paired with ample fragrances, each one distinct, delighting and capable of conjuring entire movies of my life with a single wafting scent. Lilacs of spring… The first cutting of grass signaling to my body in preparation for the last day of school… Sweetcorn infused humidity inspiring many a summertime canon ball off the end of a pier… And the spicy bitter end of leaves come fall just waiting there patiently in piles of smoke ready to be returned to the heavens… My preferred incense. My prayer. My church... The golden prairies of my youth.
And then there are the aspens, whose noxious thick sweetness I still cannot stand any time of year. They play movies on repeat I don’t care to relive, from a time my world was anything but glowing in the promise of sunshine. Throughout my life aspen days came and went without invitation. Fall melancholy has a bouquet of its own. For me it smells of aspen. And raking them violently into autumnal offerings does nothing to assuage their pallor. And so you learn to live with their odorant shadows. You make peace with their existence in order to appreciate the lighter days… Ones where rogue sunflowers find their way into fields they were never invited. The recalcitrance of it all!
We are made of these seasons… Of sun and shadow-filled seasons, unwittingly sliding down, around and upside down, from one to the next on a hot steel Mobius our legs griddle on by day and soothed by at dusk… Where we cannot find the line where beginnings end and endings begin. All we know is that suns will rise and suns will set with varying ambiguity. They will come with clouds. Or not. With rain. Or not. With wind. Or not. But they will always fall and take the sunflowers with them... And there, among the melting winter encrusted mounds of brown, I will patiently wait for spring, amply prepared for aspen days.
(©2019 Miranda Remington)