Black Saturday.

November grief and healing.

Deep freeze. November seems to have its grip on me. Each year it comes as if we have never before met- pulling me out of my summer delight to summons a pervasive sense of loss and longing.

Loss of hot days and warm nights; loss of barefoot walks and salt water hair; loss that symbolizes so much more. And longing to be held by the sun and bathed in warmth, away from memories of loneliness in the sting of cold air.

The low light of afternoon, a dull grey ambient backdrop on a stillness and silence that can be felt as the color white, beckons me to feel deeply. To process. To re-play. The hours that felt like days. The days that swirled together like a tornado, touching down on reality, then taking off to cyclone through my limited stash of knowledge about the world; innocent and ill-equipped to handle the enormity of life’s offering.

The before. The after. The hiding and burying and resilience of a 10 year old. The life. The growth. The steps. The routine. The moving on. But not healing. Not until now. Now. When I walk through. November.

If you ❤️, then please 👏🏼

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