I see it, feel it. The air around me is enhanced by the smell of change. Hot and humid evaporated and left us with cool and cloudy. School buses, mums for sale, brown corn waiting for harvest. It's September. Not yet Autumn, no longer Summer. That in-between month not sure what season to call itself.
The air conditioner has been turned off. Crisp night air blows into my bedroom, carrying an aroma of plowed earth and the occasional scent of a far-off skunk. I'm waiting. For more change.
Change. Brilliant, earth-shattering change comes so seldom in our lifetime. An idea, a thought, a dream of success drives us to make changes. More often, change is subtle and we adapt to most of it. But unfortunate or deliberate mistakes force changes that are often perceived as horrific, when in fact, they are not. I thought perhaps this entire past year would stifle me, hurt me, turn my writing into scraps meant for the dogs.
The sabbatical, as I call it, has accomplished quite the opposite. As I read the dribs and drabs from the past months of here and there, I view my writing very much as grapes in a press. Condensed, but richer. Turned into something undeniably palatable. Smooth.
I like this change.
There are more changes to come. Some not so good, I'm afraid. But, as always, I'm a survivor. I'll get through it and it'll end up as prose somewhere in one of my stories. This year has proven to me one great fact. Unconditionally, I'm a writer. That, dear friend, will see me through the rest of my life. Every change in life can be twisted to the good. If we want it to be.
Blessings to you and yours.