seasonal sorrows | at the cusp
Inside and out we feel invaded by body snatchers, violated and abused. Subjected to wild roller coaster rides and loopy loops — physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Shifting seasons turn us into a rebelling revolt of massive magnitude.
Our heads turn into weathervanes — distinctive cushball hair puffs out as humidity rises with unpredictable summer thunderstorms.
As the moisture gets sucked out of the air with dropping temperatures — skin crinkles and dries and all body hair stand at attention with static that zaps us out of our bodies in surprise.
No amount of oils, ungents and creams can save our parchment sensitive dermas from cracking and crackling like our favorite crispy fried chicharon.
Tossing and turning in bed turns into a sparkler show of prickly lights and phosphorescent bites. Layering turns torturous as we peel off and add on pieces in terrorized anticipation of the buzzing, burning “bzzzt”.
The attendant sting much aggravated by the never ending surprise.
It asuages our sour sorry state to see the colors turn. In the golden glory of light and shadow play. In the full lushness of leaves turning all shades of autumn gilded glows.
Wafting breezes cool our aggrieved skin and soul. As it regrets the warm moist loss of summer and embraces the cool dry arrival of fall. Our DNA still wired for tropical rainforests that no longer exist.
Originally published at https://wonderwanderwomen.blogspot.com.
