“SHEEP UNDER A HARVEST MOON” by Dawne Polis

I think it’s something about the season. All those swirling hues, the kaleidoscope of colors you see on the trees, on the ground, in the clothes of the bustling bodies around you, in the hearts nestled beneath those clothes and within those bodies. It’s something that breeds a restlessness with the turning of the seasons, as if a churning of the wind and the whirring of the rain are the sounds of nature’s gears as she’s huffing and puffing and chugging to change gears and follow a better direction. This is a paradox to the solid browns and oranges and golds of the season, solid and warm colors that breed feelings of trust and contentment and significance. It’s a paradox to the warm soothing taste of apple cider, the sweet bite of a familiar pumpkin pie, the refreshing ritual of apple-pickingand olive-picking (depending on your hemisphere and region). The clarityand crispness of the air seems to a metaphor for the refresh button onyour laptop, while the canvas of darkening skies urges you to quicken thepace and finish your chores before nightfall.

Something about the season, a time of change—or not.

Perhaps ‘tis not the season, ‘tis the soul. Weather is a timeless excuse; the phases of the moon and the tide are often victimized as the “actions” bringing on our reactions. It is we who allow ourselves to be shaped by exterior environments, worlds, and circumstances, forgetting that changes can bring circumstances (and not always the other way around). Being human and alive, our exterior world will always influence our interior. Yes. We forget, however, that our interior has a power that is so hugely and so willingly underestimated.

So ‘tis the season? Or the soul?

~Angreek87