Three weeks ago we had a blizzard.  Now we are delighting in extended Indian summer. Leaves of gold and rust and scarlet cling tenaciously to branches, crispy curls of brown leaves let go and drift on chilly breezes.  Fallen leaves make brilliant patch work quilts in all of our yards and children shuffle through the piles gleefully.  My neighbors scurry about watering, mowing, trimming lawns, thinking this will be the last time till spring.  I’m replacing century old drafty windows, caulking and buttoning up before winter really arrives. A cold wind and skiff of snow blew in yesterday after a glorious 60° day on Sunday.  I’m starting to think about winter projects like baking, knitting and sewing, more frequent writing. It’s that time. 

I love autumn with its busyness, its chill in the air, its anticipation of winter wonders just around the corner. Snows and blustery winds will come soon enough.  For now, I’ll soak up this autumn beauty for as long as it lasts.  

I hope the loveliness of the season surrounds you, wherever you may be. . . . . . . 

It broke all records, this early autumn blizzard.  Crept in and took us by surprise.  A beautiful morning began with gentle winds and light rain changing to snow. A perfect day for baking cookies and making a big pot of stew.  For two days prior to this one, in 70 degree weather, I trimmed the shrubs grown wild and gangly through the past very wet summer.  My neighbor loaded the brush piles in his pickup and hauled them to the dump; I promised him a batch of cookies in return.

Midafternoon, he knocked at my door.  Very calmly Bert suggested, “You might want to keep an eye on your elm tree. It’s sparking and smoking.” Heavy wet snow collected in the leaves, weighed down the branches, causing them to rub and pull on the power lines.  Just then as we looked up there were sizzles, pops, booms and bangs, a brilliant orange flash as the power line snapped and fell across my lawn and driveway and my neighbor's cars parked at the curb. The other part of the wire lay in a puddle at the edge of the alley on the west side of my house.  Across the street, my neighbor Jackie, brushing snow from her hedges, looked up and ran to call the power company.  I called the fire department and Bert patrolled the street to keep people, dogs and cars away from the downed lines and falling limbs. 

All over town the same scenario played out.  At one point in the early evening, our entire town was quiet.  Not a light was visible in all directions.  Then slowly, block by block, neighborhood by neighborhood, power was restored over the course of a couple of days.  Snowfall here measured just 5 or 6 inches; other Black Hills towns got 4 feet and more!  Thousands of people were without power or water and had no place to go if they could dig out. Drifts and whiteouts in open country closed roads and all services, roofs collapsed, cattle and sheep died or are lost till ranchers can get out to find them. Some places are still without power and may be for days longer.  In other places as temperatures move back into the 50’s and 60’s flooding is occuring and homes in low lying areas are being evacuated.  More rain and high winds are predicted starting tomorrow. 

It is said that disaster brings out the best and the worst in people.  I’ve witnessed only the best in my little corner.  Neighbors knocked on doors to check on one another.  They shared food and hot coffee; traded books and candles; moved broken branches off roofs and walkways, called the power company, gave rides, offered blankets and a cozy bed by the woodstove.  In our busy lives, tied to our power sources, important in our individual pursuits, we often pass each other in an impersonal and superficial way.  Apart from the outer world, plunged into the necessity of the moment, we rediscover the goodness residing in ourselves and in each other. Nothing else matters more than a human voice, a touch, a smile, sincere questions: “Are you alright? How can I help?”

We are strangers joined together by our oft-neglected deep well of kindness.  From time to time we are given reminders that this is so, in ways, like blizzards, that we can’t ignore.
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I’ve been having lots of visitors – good friends coming to welcome me back and to see my new home.  We’re reconnecting, rekindling friendships.  At this stage of our lives, we are experiencing quite a few noteworthy changes. For most of us, full retirement is upon us or we are working fewer hours than we did for many years. We have time to do some of the things we always looked forward to doing such as traveling, pursuing hobbies, taking classes, spending time with friends and neighbors. Some of us face these later years alone, having lost a spouse or partner. Some are helping raise grandchildren. Others have significant health challenges that impact the quantity and quality of our remaining years. Some volunteer in their churches and communities. Some seem to blossom into a new growth pattern.

No matter what we are facing, I’m noticing a greater degree of quietness in myself and in my friends.  I don’t know if it’s universally true of most people in their sixties and beyond, but it seems that at this age we have come to terms with the lives we have.  We are not striving to achieve, to get ahead, to prove something about our worth and status. We hold life with a looser grip and think more kindly before we speak.  We let each other be who we are more easily and more often.  We defer to younger people – especially to our own children – and marvel at their skills and accomplishments, the lives they create with passion and intention.  We laugh more. We know we don’t know as much as we thought we knew, nor do we have as many certainties and hotly defended opinions as before.  We value people more than things, time together more than obligations that distract us from each other.  We have gained some wisdom and usually know when to share it and when to let others find it in their own way, in their own time.

One friend who came to see me this week said: “It seems like your home has wrapped itself around you to keep you safe and comfortable.” Her words echoed what I’ve been noticing recently.  I am more conscious of being embraced by life. It’s hard to put into words.  It’s like a baby in the womb, whose life is possible because it is one with its mother.  Like the seeds of a pumpkin, alive within an enclosure and holding promise of new creations once they are planted.  Like a kernel of corn, embedded in the cob, surrounded by the husks, alive because of these connections.  Like a leaf floating because of the movement of air.  Like a brook singing because of the presence of rocks.  Like a brilliant sunset made possible by the slant of sun rays, the curve of the earth, dust in the air.  Likewise, I am because of all that embraces me – air, light, food, water, sunsets, birds singing, a home, loved ones.  I would cease to be if life were not embracing me, holding me in place, giving me pleasures and necessities.  It is an awesome, incomprehensible gift, this life that surrounds us, that sustains us, allows us to be.  We are inseparable, contained within this living matrix, this embrace.

How do you conceive of life at your present moment in time? What does the embrace mean to you? How are you living within it?

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