still processing
and sharing a handful of small, lovely things
On Wednesday, the Bay Area welcomed the first real rains of the upcoming season. They doused our dry brown hills and carpeted our city sidewalks with patchworks of red, orange and gold that fell from the trees.
I’m thoroughly enjoying this year’s seasonal turning even as I grapple with some of the changes the turning has uncovered.
My body usually recognizes fall somewhere around Dia de Los Muertos on November 2nd, though no calendar is necessary to mark the shift. I notice my thoughts becoming less hungry for possibility and more respectful of inevitability. Gut instincts become more watchful, careful and protective of boundaries. Any leftover summertime bounce starts to feel heavier as if grounding the bones in a weighted cloak.
I wonder how it feels where you are
and how you would describe the season you’re in
and how you’re embodying that season.
The last few weeks in my life have been uprooted by a lot of emergence. An array of changes, including deep personal shifts and health challenges have asked me to rely on a set of muscles I’m less accustomed to using. No star has yet risen in the North to guide me, so I’m relying on my own inner compass more often than feels integral. It’s like I’ve been living a year’s worth of experience in less than a month’s time.
Still processing...
I spent most of the first week of November at my laptop writing about some of the more meaningful experiences I’m fumbling my way through right now. Once the post was edited and ready for you to read, I found myself reluctant to hit the send button.
At first, I had no idea why. Turns out I wasn’t overthinking or being a perfectionist. I had been slower to realize the turning is still working its uncomfortable, sometimes painful internal magic. I’m offered the invitation to reflect on the mysteries I’m moving through, but also being asked to reserve the reflections for my eyes and ears only--at least for now. I’m still processing and integrating, so that post is tucked away until I feel ready to externalize my thoughts.
What I am called to share with you, though, are a few photos from my most recent time in the redwoods, which is one of my favorite places to process and integrate. I was there the second week of November just as fall became crisp and clear in the air.
And below are a handful of the most lovely links that were originally folded into the stashed-away post and are far too good to hoard. They’re geared towards enjoyment and not so much about geeking out on embodiment, culture or expanding awareness as my links usually are.
Lovely links that made me look and linger...
Soup season is here. I found lots of totally new-to-me recipes to try.
The soundtrack to my November. If you like mellow-ish instrumental music with bits of warm vocals sparingly sprinkled in here and there, Mac DeMarco’s almost-9-hour-long release is an effortless meditation. I say “release” because he doesn’t call this 9-hour project an album. It transforms with each listen. Tenderly uplifting but never boppy. Maybe put it on now and listen as you peruse the remaining links. Bandcamp | Spotify
Adorable, artful and utterly compelling conversation between Phoebe Bridgers and Olivia Rodrigo. I wouldn’t be able to identify the music of either artist without help and yet was so stunned by their exchange I read it twice! They and their editors are poets and charmers.
I’ve enjoyed learning about artist Robert Irwin, who said it was his job “to make you a little more aware than you were the day before of how beautiful the world is.” His body of work is undefinable in the best way.
DO NOT MISS The Last Moviestars limited documentary series about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward's relationship. Directed by Ethan Hawke, voiced by George Clooney, Laura Linney and others. A stunningly golden space created by artists about artists. Newman and Woodward weren’t just beautiful, smart, fun, talented and generous, their time on earth is chock full of the dearest kind of lessons.
This time of year I drink tea made from the tips of Douglas Fir trees. The tips are harvested in Spring and taste like it--floral, fresh, pine-y with a touch of sour that balances out the seasonal darkness of fall. I’m drinking this one right this very moment.
I have no answers today and all too often I don’t even know what my questions are, and, alongside any agony this brings me, I love that I can always offer small, joyful things, including photos and links like these above that lead to wonderful places.
Love all the links -especially the documentary!! Thanks.
The Gentle Giants!!