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10.02.04 - 12:04 p.m. When I got back from vacation, Autumn was waiting. He snuck in and is now nudging Summer southward, to South America where Summer will pull up a lounger next to the surf and dream of sheep. Autmumn is a bit bittersweet for me. I love sweater weather. Who doesn't? I enjoy the contrasts of lichen covered Maple bark and golden crisp canopies. I like the sounds of swooshing leaves underfeat while walking in the night, but I don't like the insurgence of darkness. How every evening begins a bit earlier...extending it's shadowy embrace. I feel like I should start gathering walnuts for hibernation. Ahhh Hibernation. It seems appropriate to sleep through Winter. If only that gene wasn't lost in our evolution. Can you imagine the gluttony before our slumber, or the silence in cities as we all slept? The static of depression seems to come through a bit more as Winter approaches. That's how I see my depression...as static. Sometimes it distorts the picture to the point of the "flys fighting" image seen on old tvs on channel U, before the somber "blue screen" on the new models. I'm too easily effected by the seasons. I'm glad I've developed a ritual with the seasons. As you may have read in previous entries I'm a lover of plants, and have several Bonsai trees I've been shaping for the past 2 years. In the Autumn I change the fertilizer of my deiciduous trees, such as the elm and the maple, to prepare them for their winter sleep. I clean off the shelves across my bedroom window, and change out the grow lamp bulbs above them. Using my coconut bristled hand broom I sweep away Summer's dust and place each of my Tropical trees, my Fujien Teas and Ficus, in their respectful spots for the Winter. In the Spring I bring my hardy trees out from the glassed in front porch and settle them onto the "Bonsai Bench" in the back yard. The tropicals are brought out from my bedroom and reintroduced to their newly awoken friends...if trees had friends. The screaming Druid in my believes they do. The Crocus push up through the snow, and sometimes bloom in the frost. My tulips pop up next and that let's me know I can begin planting my annuals...filling my yard with dark red Impatiens. Soon the yellow of the Daisies and Woodland Poppy appears with the purple Sheppards Beards, and then Summer is here. The planting stops, and the growing begins. These seemingly meaningless tasks are rituals, participating in a life cycle of plants, heralding in the end of a season and the beginning of a new. Without a clear understanding of what I believe, in regards to a Higher Power or end result, these rituals give me a tangible solace. I sware I'm not a hippy. I'm not, really.
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