Maineiac Heart

The breeze, with its sounds of leaves brushing past other leaves, played its fall melody. Such a glorious song. Leaves floated down, like red and yellow notes descending on a page of music. I felt like I was in church. Not the church of Sunday sermons and crowds. Rather, the quiet of a church in mid-day, when no one is there. Just the hush and the colored light streaming from the stained glass windows.

It got me to thinking about one of my favorite topics, the cycles of the seasons, the metaphors of life. How there is this last remarkable display of colors--that final push of what is left. How, during the winters of life, it can be hard to remember the potential a living thing holds.

I had been listening to Sarah Bareilles's new song, "You Used to be Mine," from her musical score for the Broadway-bound show, Waitress. The woman at the song's center has lost herself, has forgotten all the vibrancy she used to hold. The winters of her life piled high and hard. There is one stanza that really hit me:

It's not what I asked for/ sometimes life, just slips in through a backdoor/ and carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true/ now, I've got you.

Give it a listen here.

I can't imagine there is a person who has not felt the same, at one time or another. That sense of losing your best self, the spirit that sustains you. Yes, there are people who manage to have a tighter hold on that, but I have learned that they, too, have periods when they lose their colors.

To some degree, starting this blog was my attempt to get back to the part of myself that drew energy from the harmony in the world around me. Taking pictures, celebrating the glory of a walk in quiet woods, thinking about the poetry in life, listening to music that resonates, connecting with the people who matter most and also appreciate those things--all of this helps give meaning to my footsteps on this earth. All of this is creates the rhythm for my beating heart.

As I walk upon these remnants of the past seasons, I hear the music that lifts me, I feel the breeze that strokes my cheek, and I recognize I have a desire to see what is next.