The first chestnuts are starting to fall. I hear them hit the ground as I walk along the promenade, that dry sound announcing that something is ripening without anyone forcing it.
I bent down to pick one up. It is still inside its bur, green and bristling, defending itself from everything. It made me smile: so much effort to keep something so sweet inside.
Today I sat with someone who defended herself the same way, prickly on the outside and very afraid to open up. I didn’t mention chestnuts to her, of course. I just listened, with the patience of someone waiting for what must fall to fall.
In the afternoon I made myself an infusion and sat by the window. The light comes in lower now, more golden.
I think about what falls without being called: a word, a decision, an old sorrow that finally lets go.
There is no need to pull at anything. Just to be near, like the ground beneath the chestnut tree, and receive.