For as long as I can remember, my hair has begun to shed in the fall. I end up with handfuls of hair after shampooing that accumulate in my comb and hairbrush. I often feel something tickling inside my shirt, only to discover a hair that has slipped inside. Sometimes, hair becomes wrapped around my fingers whenever I am washing dishes, and it is irritating trying to remove it from my wet hands. I used to become concerned because I thought I was losing all of my hair; but by springtime and throughout the summer, it would stop falling out. Over the winter months it was apparently growing in thicker, by pushing out the old hair, to aid my body in staying warm.
It is not yet fall, but my hair has begun its yearly turnover. It seems to occur around the same time that swans are losing their old flight feathers and growing new ones, in preparation for their annual migration. Although it is just past the middle of July, I noticed that the air has had an autumn quality to it when I was working outside these past few days. The mornings have been chilly in spite of the 100 degree heat we had only three days ago. I am hoping that we do not have another early autumn, as we did last year.
My zucchini is producing prolifically and I am getting some cucumbers now. My tomatoes, having gotten a very late start, are growing, but not yet producing. I hope to have enough green beans to harvest for a meal in a day or two. I have small seedlings of zinnia, coreopsis, marigold, and nasturtium in hopes of having some late summer blooms. Still, there is a change in the air that I can feel. In addition to my garden’s produce, the work I put forth on revision of my book, Question Everything: Overcoming Passivity in a Perilous World has now come to fruition. It is republished with a new cover that depicts light, matching the lightness that I have felt recently in my own being.
I have made changes in my life (voluntary and involuntary) so many times that I feel somewhat like an insect that must experience numerous instars in order to grow. Instars are those periods that arthropods must go through, of shedding their old skin and growing a new one. Now that my book project is complete, I can turn my attention to some of my other writing. My lease for this small house, where I have been living, will be up in November. Although I do not know what is next on my path, I know a change is coming. I will adapt as I have always done. I will squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of the remaining summer – however short or long it will be. I am not concerned about tomorrow. Change is the only thing I can count on.
