It's cold, but not freezing. The leaves aren't completely white with ice just yet; just burnt orange and beautiful reds. The trees are almost completely naked now, stripped down to the bare bark. There is a few stubborn leafs left. It's beautiful and sad and beautifully sad. I've been watching them transform, very closely, from crazy little green trolls to insanely beautiful pieces of art. She's quite good at these seasonal art installations, our mother earth.
I spent my day raking leaves and doing yoga outside in the damp, yellow grass. My shoes are covered in mud, so I had to leave them outside, and my nose is still slightly pink - but I couldn't leave that outside. I am living slowly. I'm learning that it's OK to be soft and sensitive and silly and care deeply about small things; like a heart shaped leaf or that perfectly circular watermark a warm cup of tea leaves on a table. It's who I am, and I don't need to justify my actions or thoughts or feelings to anyone. Not even myself. It's both strange and liberating at the same time. I will continue to convince myself that I am in fact OK. Someday I might believe it, fully. My goal is to silence these voices within me that craves perfection, and search for peace instead. And it's OK if I fall flat on my face while I search for it, I've done it a hundred times already and it is what the ground is there for; catching me when I fall.