Poison Oak, Wind, and Worry

How can I say I hate a particular month of year? As the daughter of a gardener I was raised to love all of the seasons for their varied contributions to life's natural splendors. But I think I can officially say I hate the month of October in California. I can't sleep well, the Santa Ana winds blow like witches breath, my kid has creepy looking poison oak and it isn't going away fast enough, and I'm researching Poland's dark history, the time of WWII, for my memoir all plunging me into new depths of anxiety and doom. I feel like Miss Clavel in the childhood book, Madeleine, who said "Something is not right!" My writing feels informed by this plaintive and unsettled state. All of this worry and wind seems to be stirring things up, getting me ready for National Novel Writing Month coming up shortly. More on that in the next post.