When leaves fall too soon, or the August Hollow

The leaves are already falling in my yard, a sign that the scorching heat of recent weeks and the major cleanup that took place a week and a half ago are starting to take their toll on my vines. It’s heartbreaking to see nature being battered like this, when I had created my oasis of peace and tranquility amidst the hustle and cacophony of the city.

Let’s cross our fingers that my vines can hold on for another good month before they start showing their autumn colors, because I need this green cocoon for my mental health these days…

The course of things unfolds, and the calm of a life now without daily drama troubles my soul. Used as I was, like a junkie, to the chaos of an existence filled with conflicts with others, I now find myself in this silence that feels almost foreign to me.

I’m in the hollow of summer where, every August, I despair of everything. Exhausted and drained as I am from an adult life of having to stay strong in the face of a world filled with bad news, events “that we only see once in our lifetime,” and dishonest people who exploit others who are worn down. A world where everyone is simply exhausted by everything.

And yet, in this August melancholy, there’s something necessary. As if this fatigue were a rite of passage before being able to breathe again, before September comes to remind me that life goes on, that seasons turn, that even my battered vines will eventually turn green again.

It’s like this every year: August is my month of seasonal depression, before the frenetic energy of back-to-school renewal grabs me by the guts and completely revitalizes me. While waiting to find my stride again, I’m in a contemplative mood where I start dreaming of retirement, or at least of that much-desired sabbatical…