the scent of sorrow: an ode to late summer
words: august 22nd, 2024 | film photos: august 2024 | poem: july 27th, 2024
this leo season has felt different than the ones before. i spent my birthday quietly. within the womb of the mother, laying my body in hot bath water. i put my body in cold creek water. i let my eyes weep. and what was the word that kept coming to me?
sorrow.
the tenderness and tides of change fill up the space in between. i feel its pulsing as it hangs. like the darkened cloud of a late summer storm. its smell i can taste in my throat. like buckwheat honey. thick and sultry. the wind sends a current buzzing, electricity building in the atmosphere. i wait for it to grant me release. a downpour so sticky sweet washing over me. but it does not yet grant me this. and so i sit in my waiting. on the verge of something.
last weekend we went backpacking through the wilderness. our peak elevation climb bringing us to alpine lakes. at the highest lake we sat watching how the changing clouds shifted to bring different colors to the lake: a slate grey transitioning to emerald green before being altered to aqua blue then sinking into blue grey. not unlike a mood ring showcasing shifting temperature and temperaments. me, wanting the sun to break through the clouds long enough to warm through the winds. but there is no time like the present and instead of waiting, we went in. jeremy swam into the middle and i dipped my body quickly by the water’s edge. climbing out, her waters still stuck on my skin, the wind prickling my flesh.
the clouds appeared to me the color of an oncoming late summer storm, but it did not come. it is true, i wanted warm rain to kiss my skin. i wanted to feel the vibration and hum of thunder in the distance. to feel its rumbling in my chest. to count the seconds until electricity lit up the sky. to feel its current within. to witness the landscape shift under feet and smell the scent of dirt first kissed by rain. my hair curling at its touch. my clothes clinging under its grip. to watch as the tree leaves do its best of holding each water droplet before dropping it to the ground. mirroring my own letting go of what i hold.
i had wanted this release. but the clouds did not grant it to me.
instead, we walked back to our camp next to one of the lower lakes with skins freshly altered by sun’s touch. i put my body in the lake’s warm water, not going into the deeper colder parts. i let my flesh heat on a warm boulder leaving on it the imprint of my wet skin. jeremy makes coffee and i sip its warmth while contemplating the boundary of the mountain. the harsh transition from rock to sky. as jagged edge leads to air. looking at my own boundaries, the skin that holds me. with traces still of water and dirt and little bumps that show signs of the cooling winds. i hold my legs up to see the contrast of colors and textures between skin and water. between skin and rock. skin and tree - mutual concentric rings mirroring one another. the water mirroring the landscape up above. the waters of my blood flowing. my own inner lakes pooling. running my eyes along the waters’ edge to find traces of the shifting of seasons. and all of a sudden i get visions of this land as it goes through changes throughout the seasons. changes throughout the years. how old is this rock? how old are these trees? how many feet of how many creatures have walked where i have walked? i imagine this land in the depths of winter. snow covering all, paths unrecognizable. trees getting stronger under the weight of their heavy cloak of cold.
i imagine all of this as i lay in the sun.
in between changes there are moments of silence. a quiet moment of reflection and intention before the electric buzzing of movement starts up again. and i feel it now. it is a restless energy. but i can’t quite grasp it long enough to put it into action. it is current swimming in my body.
it is the tension between wet roots sinking deeper into earth and the branches aching towards the sunlight. it is more of a feeling into where to go instead of a knowing. a slowly sliding your foot to find the sunlight while your other limb holds you in place.
it is the unmistakable taste of nostalgia. a heavy sweetness of what was still lingering on the tongue.
a sorrow so familiar i can trace its steps within my bones. it holds me as i hold my limbs above ground letting the damp thick air send its shifting along my spine, and my limbs below ground sinking deeper into the pulsing rhythmic earth. succumbing to that rhythm with open palms and bare feet. drinking in the scent of sorrow and allowing the current of change to move my limbs once again.
july 27th, 2024 by katie shakira the scent of sorrow a musty sweetness like earth after weeks of rain bare feet pressing in so tenderly softly atop wet duff its' sweet musk ricochets from wall to wall within rib cage with each breath i take it swirls and twirls like composting decay letting go with each step i take breathing in that deep earthy sweetness of sorrow it feeds the roots within my bones and i have come to terms with the ache that lives inside heart a tangible depth so vast i cannot grasp the taste that sits on the back of my tongue it is the sweetness of sorrow touching me so tenderly it is the scent that brought me back into this life like the smell of wilting roses i have come here to press my nose up against it - this life inhaling as she passes through me an intertwining of pleasure and grief
what i’m reading: The Smell of Rain on Dust by Martín Prechtel. a beautiful and blunt reflection on grief and praise ~ discussing personal, community, environmental and generational grief in prose. this book is poetic medicine.
what i’m eating:
i made these fig bars for our backpacking trip as a perfect trail snack and dessert treat. this recipe is sooo good i didn’t make any alterations. 10/10 recommend for a no added sugar nostalgic treat.
summer fruit chicken: sauté bone-in skin-on chicken in ghee in a dutch oven or thick-bottomed pot. add some chopped carrots and cook until they soften a bit. then throw in some chopped farmer’s market peaches, foraged blackberries and garden herbs (i used basil, sage, thyme), put the lid on the pot and simmer for about 10 minutes until the chicken is cooked through and the fruit is all ooey gooey. serve over a few large lettuce fronds and top with fresh basil. best enjoyed outside at sunset.
mutual aid share:
The Sanabel Team - a community led project providing aid to the families affected by the genocide happening right now in Gaza. find out more and how to support here
Donate to The Amah Mutsun Land Tribe if you’re living on or near the California central coast. find out more about the efforts they are making to restore the land and pay your land tax here
song share:
when saturn returned
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thank you thank you from my deepest and most tender tendrils to everyone who has already ordered my book when saturn returned ~ my heart is so full. it has been such a surreal experience seeing this creation land softly into other people’s hands and homes. an actual dream come true!
send me an email or message if you would like to order my book when saturn returned [go here to see my previous post to find more details about the book]
what’s inside:
59 entries of poetry/prose
59 high-quality scans of film photographs
an astrological natal chart for each piece with the transiting sun, moon, and Saturn that correspond to when that particular piece was written
my heart <3
to order when saturn returned:
$20 plus shipping (no shipping cost if you are in the Santa Cruz area and would prefer local pick-up)
email or message me to order and/OR venmo $20 to my account @katie_shakira with your address if you need the book shipped, or put “local” for local pick-up.
as always, i welcome comments and musings of your own if you feel called to share.
with warm honeyed blessings,
katie shakira
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