I know a place

October is coming soon. October is my favorite month, and autumn my favorite season. All summer I lean forward on my toes with anticipation of the cooler September days, where the sun stretches lower along the sky. It creates a more beautiful kind of light, one that makes me feel serene and secure. All summer I dream of the leaves turning. I stare down the trees, urging them to loose their leaves sooner. I look into a cluttered closet of tank tops with scorn, and while I'm there I spend a little quiet time fondling my scarves, giving them the human touch of my neck they might be longing for. At least, I miss them. I drape them around my shoulders and parade about in front of the mirror--maybe not so much like a beauty queen, but more of a 'ooh it's chilly' monologue of body. I hope no one is watching.

I love the color of the trees, and the pillowy mountains of leaves that pile up beneath them, catching their feathers on the hood of my car as I drive, spinning off quietly, ambling back to the side of the road with their soft and silent friends. Fall makes me want to pull a woolen hat down over my eyes, and then itch my forehead and push it back up. I want to hold a porcelain cup of overly sweet cider with whip cream, take a sip of the melting cream, declare that it's too sweet, and then set it down beside me as I finish up a good book.

But mostly, I want to spend the sunny, crisp, and lengthy afternoons with a good friend. I want to enjoy it with someone. I want to kick up twice as many leaves with the help of another. Fall doesn't feel the same alone. The leaves seem lonelier.

Where was I last year at this time?

Oh, ya, here I was. At the Arboretum, taking photos with someone. Someone.

And here, at the beach, with somebody.

There are some moments I wish I could go back to. Just for a day. Just to visit. And then I would come back. There are some days I want to close my eyes and be back inside of, just for a moment. Just to visit. But I would come back. Maybe.

Its strange for me to think, now that its almost October, that I was thinking of having an October wedding. I was thinking of being married. I was thinking of what colors would look the most beautiful in the Autumn sun. I was thinking of a wedding dress. I was thinking of a union. I was thinking of a kiss. And maybe it would have been this October. It could have been this October. It was almost this October. Maybe. Except it wasn't.

And now October is almost here. And I'm in a completely different place in life. Instead of frantically running about pulling out folds of cream and crinoline, instead of sharing last secrets with mothers and friends over glasses of champagne, instead of beaded details and fall flowers, instead of gatherings and well wishes of family and friends, instead of dreaming of the anticipation of my wedding night, instead of looking into my loves eyes with a knowing, instead, I am here. And I am here alone. I am here with a book, I am here with myself. I am here with my life, I am here with my God. I am here in an empty bed, topped with folds of cotton and flannel. I am here sharing secrets to an empty screen. I am dreaming of the anticipation of spreading out in my own bed. I am here drinking cocoa instead of champagne. I am here looking into the reflection of my own eyes on a blank canvas. A full canvas. And I am still here.

And I know that I am here because God has me here. And I am happy. And I am complete. I am full. I am satisfied. I am in anticipation of all the things God is doing. I am here in my place, and I would not prefer to be anywhere else. There is great beauty in taking strides alone, kicking up only enough leaves for myself. Maybe that way I can see more beauty in the details. I can linger through them longer, thinking of each one's beauty, paying attention to the differing pattern of each one, like shells on an empty beach.

But sometimes, as October approaches, and I think of what might have been, I get lonely. And I look behind me to see if anyone is there, but nobody is. But I keep hearing a sound.

And then I remember; it is heartache. It follows you around. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, it's always there, lingering like your shadow. Sometimes it is long and tall, sometimes short, distorted. Sometimes it timidly hides around corners, leaving room for other things, not wanting to bother anybody. Sometimes it is great and livid, licking at your feet and crawling up your ankles. You find yourself knee deep in this embrace, with it ever crawling higher, sometimes up to your neck, demanding to be acknowledged lest it strangle you.

I once thought that if I read enough books, I could find out how to cut the shadow loose. I thought if I doubled up my efforts in knowledge, I could use that sword to cut it free. I thought that if I spent more time in devout prayer, it would slink away. I thought that if I ignored it, submerging myself in bright light and cool drink, it would be drowned out.

But then I realized, it is part of me. It's not a shadow, but a part. As long as I carry the memories, I carry this heaviness. As long as I carry this love, I carry this lightness. It grafts itself on, and is at once separate, heavy, burdensome. And then it is light, and blended, and blessed. I hate it, I love it, I need it, I have it. I don't need it, I shouldn't have it, I don't want it. I am ok with it. And it is there. And the tear in my heart will heal. Maybe not all the way. But I am ok. And I am ok with this part.

But still, when the sun lays low in the months of autumn, my heart hangs heavier, and I feel the heartache just a little more.