If Late Autumn Was A Woman

If late Autumn was a woman

She’d do all the things that reminder her of who she is

And grieve the times she forgot to honor herself first.

She’d start cooking again and wonder when she stopped.

She’d wear her comfiest sweaters with her most luxurious jewelry

For no one but herself.

She’d suddenly remember how much she loves crafts.

She’d create a lot actually - poems, artwork, magic, but no one would see it

Because she’s lost all need or interest for validation now.

She’d be deep cleaning her home room by room.

She’d go to bed early and get up late.

She’d become curious

And then

She’d question everything.

She’d graciously let everything about her transform

Her interests, her style, her calendar, her habits.

She’d listen more and talk less

Not because someone told her to, but because she doesn’t need to impress anyone now.

She’d grieve all the things she’s loosing - her energy to give, and host, and socialize.

She’d start clearing her schedule anyway.

She’d say no

Unapologetically.

She’d follow her intuition

Even if it made others uncomfortable.

She knows the cost of not listening.

She’d feel confused in the empty spaces of time she’s created

Not yet knowing what will be born in the fertile darkness this time.

She’d feel sudden urgency to pay off debts, physical and energetic.

She’s clearing space.

She’d notice each color change outside and each drop of rain standing steady on the edge of a leaf.

She’d take the time to smell the changes and to feel the magic

And see this as a sort of rebellion to a culture of rush.

She’d speak with loud passion about injustices

And otherwise, she’s turning inward.