Seasonally this is the time of transitions. I feel at one with the earth itself and the scene beside me in the window. The leaves have fallen and the world appears barren. I am alone in my home more and more of the time. The clamor for my attention from both parishioners and family has subsided. I type these words and feel the ping of sadness with a nip of regret and too a sense of peace. I know that what is happening outside my window is happening inside my life. Deep in the earth there is constant motion, unseen from the outside looking in but with a power that will burst forth with beauty in due time.
To be sure I have caution and fear. But this is an unmistakable transition, not a premonition. This place in my life is not the late summer day that hints at autumn, this is the early December morning when the sky is gray and the lone squirrel is scrambling for the last scrap. I am in the cocoon and ready for the long sleep before the new beginning.
I have three weeks of church work, then a month of leave time. When I return to work it will be for the three months (give or take) of swan song. “Just keep swimming,” says Dora.