The sameness of this year has made the transitions all the more jarring. When the leaves started changing colors, I was surprised. There was no return to school, the world was literally going up in flames, and still, fall arrived right on time.
Here we are in November. In Vermont, snow fell on Friday. It was especially beautiful, the way it can be when golden leaves still hang on the trees and puddle on the pure white snow underneath the snow-laden branches. I'm transitioning out of the weekly market season into the holiday markets that happen less often, yet require more preparation. The election is days away. The holidays loom ahead, anticlimactically. We have no plans. We will likely go nowhere.
Then comes the transition into deep winter, those gray and endless days of January into March. I dread them, but I also cherish them. I allow myself to rest a little, pour my energy into myself and my own projects. I see this feeling the same, though different this year. Will my child be at home, still? Will I feel housebound, unable to see people and go out, other than for essentials? Will I have the energy to replenish myself in those much needed quiet months, with nothing in particular to do, nowhere in particular to go?
