Shuffling into winter

I have taken for granted the able functions of my body. Now that I hurt a lot of the time, I am envious of the times when I did not hurt, but did not use that unhurting body to do more things. Time spent playing games, or idly sitting at the computer desk. I just want to move now, unimpeded by the tightening of muscles, and the painful reminder of tendon stretched out over the wrong joint.

golden maple leaves

uncoupled drift from the bough

new hip ache returns

Perhaps it is the inability to move as I want to that has spurned on this desire to move more. I am grateful to simply walk back and forth in the yard, teasing each task that is constantly in states of being done. Nibbling at a project here and sampling a project there. The distraction allows me to stay with the overall flow and momentum of the day: to clean and organize.

this cold wind

sparks light hearth, kindled

come inside

The fire is a cornerstone of the outside work. I don’t need the warmth, usually. My momentum in the yard will generate enough for me to be comfortable. But there is a different sort of comfort knowing that the fire needs tending, the pit never far away, the silent heat of embers once the crackling of wood is reduced to deep orange. It is a living thing that keeps me company, speaks to me about the direction of the wind. Gives me a purpose to rest when it’s coals need stirring.

raking leaves

as they cease to fall

before snow

The sunlight's decline marks the days. Each day I spend outdoors, I am viscerally aware of the approaching night. It mirrors the pain in my hip, a reminder that I can only do so much before something out of my control starts to impede my progress. It also means that I can tell people, when they ask (and they have more often than I would have imagined) when the sun tends to set. Right now it is 6 pm, but just a month ago it was closer to 7, or even 7:30. This morning I woke up and instead of dark, there was light. A trick of daylight savings. Tonight, I will have even less time.

remembrance

fire, leaves, morning frost

In this place