letting go

Twenty five seconds into this meager first attempt at creating a mixed movie of some of the footage we took in Hawaii, walks the woman I was while away in August: Light, and goofy, unencumbered.

As it should be, while away from all earthly burdens, under the sun with my guy.





Not a day has passed that I haven't thought about this footage, how light my spirit felt while we walked the pathway to a picnic dinner on the beach, the dancing that followed.

The end of summer gave way to a gloomy fall and though the initial grief has passed, I still find myself quieter and more solemn these days. This isn't to say I don't have joy in my life; I do. I cultivate it. But I am more sorrowful and slower to laugh, and instead of just accepting this little phase I'm going through, I keep pushing myself to be that girl in the video again, amid the dead leaves and broken households and lonely nights when my husband is too far away from us.

That is what is breaking me. I'm chasing a lightness in me that has passed, as the days grow shorter and the wind howls outside in window.

****

The last of the yellow jackets has stumbled into my kitchen, passing the dogs on their way out, rummy and lethargic. It juts around the windowsill, in short jerky moves. My kids are afraid it will run them down, but it is no longer a thing of speed. Whatever spunk that carried indoors won't take it where it wants to go, peckish and neutered and dying.

It bounces off the ceiling light until I catch it, and put it out so we can both let go of summer, and days spent in the sun.