Winding Roads

It's the first week of October, and I'm standing on a ridge that overlooks a small village somewhere in the northern mountains of Thailand. The sun is setting behind the distant peaks and the evening chill pricks my skin. I pull my beanie down over my ears and put on another layer. We are still a couple hours away from the next village where we plan to stop for the night. 

Riding the winding backroads to the outskirts of Doi Inthanon after dark--the cool mountain air, no moon, and the milky way cutting through the sky--the world falls out from under me and the lightness of being is all that is left. 

I conjure memories of crisp air, pumpkin patches, smoky bonfires, and an electricity in the ether that is unmatched by any other time of the year. Marked by Scorpio season, my birthday, Samhain/Halloween, thin veils, and witchy vibes--autumn has been my favorite season for as long as I can remember. 

I conjure memories of winding roads into the past--winding roads down the PCH to Big Sur for a midnight soak in the cliffside hot springs at Esalen, winding roads up through Napa and Lake Counties, where Konocti looms over Clearlake and small vineyards and quaint wineries scatter the landscape.

That Halloween we drove to Oregon because I thought we were visiting your dad. That Halloween we moved into the cliffside studio and I kept having out of body experiences because my so called real life felt too much like hell. All the haunting Halloween decorations around every turn didn't help. 

Coastal pumpkin patches, apple cider, and flannel jackets. Hot chocolate whiskey on the hood of my car watching for meteors. 

Our group stops to rest near the entrance of a desolate temple, ornate and silent. I shake the cold. I shake the memories. Where am I?

It's well after dark before we pull into Mae Chaem. I shower and try to finish the piece of writing I'd started that morning--our third day on the road, our third day of winding through mountains. My friend Monika is outside the room with our other traveling companions and I hear her laughing and laughing and laughing. I have no idea why she's laughing so hard, but it doesn't matter. Joy, in its purest form, cannot be contained.

My birthday falls exactly one week before Halloween. I've never been able to separate them, nor do I desire to--birthdays full of chilly mornings, early sunsets, and fallen autumn leaves, faeries and witches and Ouija boards, costume parties and pumpkin carving, an effortless magic.

Effortless magic. Sometimes I forget how to surrender. 

Back in Chiang Mai under a waxing crescent moon on the rise, gliding past Venus. The day settles over the horizon, spilling out in tones of burnt orange. My gratitude spills out too. What an experience, this life. 

What a month--two road trips, a birthday, and lots of hot cocoa. And it's only mid-autumn. What does autumn mean to you? What memories does it conjure? How do you surrender to its magic?