Autumn is almost here although it already feels like it. It’s always been my favorite season since the days of my childhood in the S. Bronx.
I remember moments standing still, in silence, when I felt compelled to steal away unnoticed from congregating with friends on the block. In those moments I would look toward the biggest expanse of sky I could find among the tenement buildings that towered overhead.
I always remember the sky being overcast during these moments. These were the skies that left the deepest impression on my feeling and memory. I’d hear the hollow whistling of the autumn winds as they swept through empty streets, across fields of dirt and brick, humming against my body.
These moments always suggested a beginning, a birth…..of what, I never knew.
Perfectly still – this was the only way I could receive the moment, be fully in it.
I’d feel a kind of mystical doorway open to me, inviting me to cross the invisible partition that separates the seen and the unseen. I remained entranced by the zero hour of these moments, between past and future, between memory and thought, content to stand at the crossroad without direction, without commitment, without understanding.
Each season is its own gift to me, autumn especially. And I feel no need to receive them with anything but my awareness.