22.

This was one of the first haiku I wrote in 2021 I was proud of.  I was thinking about how fall comes and goes every year; sneaks under the humid heat of August, slinks between the napping weeds of September, pounces on October, then jolts away before November can grab it with its icy claws.  I always mean to savior the fall, to take in the subtle changes in the leaves before they wither up and fall to the ground.  By the time the summer finally breaks, I’m ready to bask in the autumn chill, the air slowly drying up, windows open, a pile of blankets on the bed.  And then it’s winter.

Shoveling the driveway, bracing against the five months of hibernation and self-reflection.  It seems like it takes so long for the summer to end – to transition into the fall – and then it’s over.  I like the contrast and connection of a fall that took so long to come to fruition, and yet, when it does, it seems like it is over in a moment.

Another thing that I liked about the haiku was the play on the word fall.  Fall could refer to the autumn slowly building up and blossoming and then fading twice as fast.  It could also refer to “a fall” from grace – a fall from some higher place.  Like a downward spiral, a gradual fall that built up over weeks and months of unhealthy habits.  And one day, a couple of months (or years) later, you look in the mirror and see all the choices that led to the moment as one image, the narrative and details of the fall contained in your reflection’s unblinking stare.  It was a fall months in the making, yet somehow, in the end, it snuck up on you.