The fact that it occurs annually does not diminish the grandeur of the event. As days grow shorter, highs mark lower, and the lows surprise us with white etchings on the windshield, we are reminded of the migrational pull to the South.
Year after year he performs the ritual autumn dance of preparation. It is the anticipation of relief from the chores of summer, and the acceptable use of hours for reading, dreaming, and stoking the coals of one’s inner self. This becomes a time to hole-up, let go, and use the darkness to our advantage.
Yet, by the emergence of the first New Year moon, warm climes and exotic culture seep in through the unconscious and surface in odd returning habits such as standing your backpack in the room corner and tossing random contents at it from time to time, as you watch the snow accumulate out the window.
Yes, it then will be time to hop the cartel grip, and re-enter the lands nearer the equator. Of course you will have spent hours of preparation researching the history, maps, weather, culture, natural features, languages, costs, travel options, and the acceptance of a couple of studious gringos in dark skinned lands. The latter rarely short of a pleasant surprise.
But that will be then, and now is here. Now calls for immersion in the death and dormancy of the natural world in these Midwestern latitudes. It would be hard to really anticipate and absorb the sprout of spring without staring down the annual death and silencing of the fall.
When the migration begins, he wishes to leave with it, but knows he must remain to kill off this year, and hope to be born into the next.
Please feel free to e-mail a comment to chasingthecenterline@gmail.com
