celebrate fall, if you remember

i often think about this girl i knew. she lived with a stranger in the southeast corner of the southwest bedroom in a small home on 7th street. she moved into a strangers bedroom because it was 400 dollars a month and next to the creek in her hometown. she used to tell people that she could hear the water through her window. she spent her summers in the sunshine and in the trees. but most of all, she loved the september equinox. she wore a silver hoop in her nose, walked barefoot and wrote prose — all because it was september 22nd. she set intentions and prayed by moonlight to welcome Fall.  she was independent and she was was strong. she was brave.

and then, i remember she is me. years ago, she is me.

i often wonder what she would to me say now. 

it is september 22nd, years later. 

Fall is here today, i realize, out loud. we’re in a rental car and it’s raining as NPR plays in the background.

is it really? he says back. 

i think i want to be a writer, i say quietly, twenty minutes later. 

we are still in the car, and it’s still raining. i’ve been gone for 20 minutes, in my head, dancing with the memory of the girl i used to be.

someday, somehow, between her and now, the day of holy equinox had become just another day in september. between her and now, i’d stopped writing. 

i think i want to be a writer, i say again, feeling the tears stain my cheeks. 

i think i want to celebrate, again. and share it. 

the happy and the sad. every season. the longest and shortest days. the lightest ones and the darkest.

celebrate if you remember, and forgive yourself if you don’t. you’re not the same as you were then. work hard, but also take your dog to see the Aspen leaves change in the Fall. you’re braver than you think.

do your best to save people. do your best to love people and heal people. and then, tell their stories. keep writing.

that is what the girl from 7th street would say to me now.