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| Shadows of palm trees, with photo thanks here. |
My sister has a name for it, that first morning when you know summer has folded its tent and crept out of town, leaving the beaches, the hills and the cities to the spell of fall. She calls it The Snap. We in Southern California are nowhere near The Snap or even its second cousin. It may have come to those of you in other climes. Even if the weather warms again for any duration, The Snap, once declared, is absolute. My son and I have traded Jack Nicholson's memorable line from Terms of Endearment, "I was inches from a clean getaway," to rue the arrival of hot days, one upon another, after what we hoped would continue to be a mild summer, all summer. Alas.
I speak of it mostly because how un-Snap our days became, seems to have becalmed a portion of me, turned me increasingly leaden and dull-witted as the week advanced. Life is cycles and if the weather plays a part, I can't say. I have almost reached the border where staring and drooling become virtues. In a world of strife, disasters, losses and alarms this is nothing, a mere bagatelle, and its unimportance is almost too embarrassing to mention. Yet knowing where we are, creatively, emotionally, physically and otherwise, seems like good sense. We will not be the same every day. I would not be surprised to learn that last week's massive solar flare has put me off my, let's call it, game. Between that unknown influence and a full super moon, who knows what havoc they shower on such creatures as we.
The possibility that I was intended to be a hibernating creature does not seem impossible. It may be that, even without The Snap, my nature has already begun to slow me down in preparation for being packed into a box of dry leaves and stored in the laundry room for the duration, as my family did with our desert tortoises each year. This will pass, as will our scorching days. Before long, one morning when the slanting sun casts palm tree-shaped shadows on our stucco home, we will know it is here at last. Welcome home to The Snap. We are never entirely peaceful until you arrive.
2 comments:
I once described a person in a poem as being "...the cold snap that changes summer to fall..." (among other things).
I've been going through a creative slump as well. Wish I could blame it on solar flares, but I think I'm just exhausted.
I'm picturing the tortoise in the laundry room. I feel like him.
Kass - Exhaustion, from whatever causes, is not to be trifled with and is one of those significant indicators that it is time to back off, slow down. And there you have it, "the snap" and how we long for it here today, even more than when I wrote the post on Saturday. Poaching in our own juices, such as they are. With so many models around us of frenzied activity that looks, from the outside, like virtuous endeavor, it takes a great amount of inner dialogue and awareness to know nothing is wrong when we need to be still. I hope you take all the rest you need. Always room for one more in the laundry room. xo
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