And the leaves fall down

The falling leaves drift by my window

The falling leaves of red and gold

Eva Cassidy

I am tired. Bone tired. Dead tired.

I feel about 150. On a good day. 

Dark moon, plus chesty cough, plus an end of a lot of demanding commitments find me dropping leaves as the season requires, lightening my load, hibernating. Early to bed. Resting all day. Doing minimum in the house, or with the kids, or friends.

I need to curl up in a ball under a blanket of dried leaves, at the roots of an old oak tree and feel myself held completely. To be rested, warm and quiet. The warmth of the earth like a cocoon.

I find myself digging down, deeper, deeper as the nights get longer, I find myself turning in. And in deepening I need to let go that which no longer serves, that which once was me, but no longer fits. 

I walk the spiral path, deeper, round and round it goes. I revisit states of being, passions, ideas. I have been here before, and yet I was not the me I now am. I have more perspective on the insight they offer. I collect their gems of wisdom like ripe apples, carrying them with me in my skirt. I see the spiders web, Indira's net, glistening with autumn dew. I smell the change of the seasons. The death that makes way for new life. The excesses of summer falling down to be subsumed into the earth once more.

I have given all I have, all I can. I am drained. 

And now I will rest. And nurture myself. And receive.

Falling, falling, but safe....

Where are you at, right now?