I often dream of being the wheel which turns my emotions, like an ox cart that rolls wherever I push it. Sadly, I can only control my emotions as well as I can control whether the garden has wind or rain. Since the sweet sun rolled through August and into the end hours of September, I have felt as if I am easily mad and quick to react to those who share the same space as me. I am my own island, my own private sail boat, and each person is a twenty foot tall wave ready to put me in the water. They don't even know it, but I know it, and it can be exhausting swimming upstream as I try to keep myself to myself.
I look outside and the world is covered in Autumn's tale of flowers, leaves the colors of pumpkins and paintbrushes are scattered in the hills and trees. I watch them blow away and into the gutters of our quiet street. I seem to always forget what mood the end of September brings me. Every cloudless night, the moon shines through our window. Every September's end, I am wondering what the world is for and what I shall do while I'm in it.
For today, dusty books sitting on the top shelf will be pulled down one by one until they've all been read, the empty bath will be filled with warm water, the twenty foot tall waves will be forgiven if not understood, I will keep on breathing as I always have. I may never be able to rise in the morning with a mouthful of "yes I can, today is the day, be your positive sun beaming self" but I can learn how to keep living and growing like a bean stock that feeds the family who waters it.
If not for these pale shades of melancholy, how could I know happiness? If not for the road, how could I long for home? If not for the loss of a friend, how could I know the true value of one?
The end of September, you are tricky to navigate.