Waiting for the elevator

Today during a long-procrastinated checkup, my gynecologist confirmed what I already suspected: I’ve entered perimenopause, my body starting to shut down its inner fire of fertility. And as my doctor recited the symptoms that are normal for bodies like mine and the ones that should be cause for alarm, I could see over her shoulder a reddening line of distant hills as the landscape undergoes a cyclic change of her own.