Falling.

I watch the leaves gently swirl- hovering just above the pavement. They are dancing, circling each other in a way that is all at once rhythmic and chaotic. It is mesmerizing, this feat of nature, and my anxiety is dissipating. The tightness in my back is slowly releasing and my jaw, unclenching.

Moving my car to the side of the unusually spacious residential road, I come to a stop and still the engine, as if I could somehow hear this waltz of the foliage without the distraction of a running vehicle. The temperatures have dropped considerably, in a way that’s decidedly seasonably appropriate, so there’s a slight chill moving through my car now, but I’m not uncomfortable.  

I remove my hands from the steering wheel and let them fall to my lap, resting in the soft fleece of my vest.

The world is manic. People are angry and hurt and confused. Things generally feel like they are falling apart and although I tell others that this must, must happen before the rebuilding, before the reckoning, it still feels catastrophic. It feels like perhaps there is no coming back from this place that we’ve collectively found ourselves in. Everyone is too incensed and too impatient, and they’ve been given a party to blame, and that’s where they all live now.

I find myself asking how you move out of a house built with an agenda, constructed with misrepresentation and misinformation and malintent. Is there a point where you can look around and decide that the space no longer suits you? Perhaps there’s a moment where you think: I’ve outgrown this place. This isn’t where I feel safe and secure any longer. At one time, I did, but now, I do not.

But if that space supports a narrative that gives you what you believe to be a reasonable explanation for everything that’s happened, what then? Can you start to heal when the wound is still open?

And yet, in the midst of the noise of the world, this street feels quiet. It feels desolate, really, save the leaves. I watch their paper-thin bodies move around each other, and I think how this is really their end. This is just before the time that they cease moving. This is just before the time when they are raked or swept, collected and disposed of. This is a visible milestone.

I am here to witness that moment before the silence of the winter months. Before the winds pick up and the snow falls. Before the temperatures dip far lower than they are today. Before noses are red and fingertips are numb and the trees are entirely bare, their naked limbs reaching into gray skies. Before hot chocolate and patches of ice and sparkling holiday lights.

I turn the ignition on for a moment, only to lower my window. The air smells clean, like promises and fulfilled wishes. Closing my eyes, I let a sharp breeze blow through my loose curls and across my heavily mascaraed eyelashes. Only when they are closed do I feel it, the exhaustion beneath the stress.

There is a tenderness behind my eyelids and I am rapidly losing the desire to flutter them open. Instead, I wish to lean my head on the seat behind me. I want to rest, perhaps just for a few minutes, but I know I can’t. I have things to do. There are people who expect things from me and in turn, I expect things of myself and the weight of disappointment is too much to bear on top of all of the other disappointments right now.

I can’t be a source of discontent right now, because there is too much riding on my stability. Even those who don’t know, know and convey their knowing in the way that best suits them. No worries is said and I know that means all the worries. Take your time really means please hurry or take some time, but not too much time. Just the right amount of time for those who decide such things.

I don’t want to blame anyone, as I’ve created this web of expectation and need, and still, I’m unclear as to how to move outside of it. I take a break, a breath, but when I return, when I open my eyes, it all seems to have waited for me. And I’m not sure I feel better at the end of it. I’m not sure I’m refreshed enough to start over or dig right back in or circle back.

Instead, I just want to close my eyes, here. I want to sleep. I want to sleep until my body aches less and my head is clearer and my hope is restored. I want to feel like there is a path forward and it doesn’t need to be easy or simple, but it needs to be traversable I watch the leaves gently swirl- hovering just above the pavement. They are dancing, circling each other in a way that is all at once rhythmic and chaotic. It is mesmerizing, this feat of nature, and my anxiety is dissipating. The tightness in my back is slowly releasing and my jaw, unclenching.

The sky, once a fiery crimson and tangerine backdrop behind the dancers, is now that milky blue indicative that twilight is upon us. It will be dark soon and I know I have places to be, and yet, I’m content that I took this time. I feel relieved that I’ve found a corner of the universe to exist in that seems uncluttered by collective grief and fear.

I lean my head out the window now, letting the air caress the curves of my face. My lips are chapped, and I feel the atmosphere invading those delicate cracks, caused only by early morning runs and a deficient beauty routine.

There are noises now. Cars bringing home workers and children and those traveling to somewhere else altogether. Also, smells. Dryer sheets and tomato sauce and exhaust.

I bring myself back into the car and turn the key until the car hums. I put the car in drive and pause before I press my boot clad food into the gas and raise the window.

“Goodbye, my dears,” I whisper.

“See you soon,” the leaves whisper back.

x

L.