Autumn sweeps in again, full of color and contrast, its crisp scent sharp on the air. A hint of woodsmoke rides the breeze, teasing the edge of memory with flickers of bonfire and campsong. The maple tree at the end of the road is crimsoning, always the first to burst into flame. My breath catches each time its glory fills my view. Autumn is vivid and joyful in its celebration of death and dreams. It is Death's sister, a smaller death, a passing of minor parts and youthful creatures into the long dark sleep of Winter. The longer-lived hold sway then, a containment of life iced over in preparation for new birth. But for now, life swirls into a riotous dance of scarlet and gold, jeweled gowns glowing against the emerald green of perpetual pines. There is no dismal droop into greyness here: there is explosion and celebration of beauty, a visual paean in praise of all that has gone before and will come again.
My son knows what the colors signify this year, his third time through the full cycle. He knows that soon he will be Spiderman with the mask that somehow covers his face yet allows him to see. He knows that soon a fourth finger will join the pack when a stranger asks his age. He knows he will have a cake shaped, somehow, like a four-wheeler, white on white by special request. He knows that soon the snow will fall, and the promise of snow angels and snowmen and sledding makes his feet dance. He looks forward, always wanting what comes next.
For me, Autumn is enough. It is fleeting, too fleeting, and too soon the leaves on the maple will fall and wither, carpeting the ground in russet mounds. The geese will fly south, winging their way towards more temperate climes. I stand and watch them go, wondering what stories they would tell could they settle by the fire and speak their tiny minds. I turn and breathe deeply, moving slowly in half-time shadowing of the crimson leaves dancing in life for a few more moments.
Winter will come with its cold white death, but there can be joy and beauty then too. It's a lesson learned anew each year, how to take what comes and find the joy, find the beauty, and join the dance.
7 bits of love:
Fall! Out upon the Fall. What's Fall but a time for raking leaves; a time for finding your back a year older and the leaf pile a foot taller; a time for cleaning red and yellow and orange crap from your gutters or else they will clog and the fall rains will cascade over the sides and drown the Chrysanthemum? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with “Oh, look how pretty the fall colors are!” on his lips, should be soft boiled like a three minute egg, and buried with a t-bone steak through his heart. He should! Bah, humbug! I’ll retire to Bedlam.
You are indeed a weaver of tales! Love your work TM.
So would DramaBoy be happy with a sheet cake with trees and stuff and a 4 wheeler driving on it or does he want full edible 4 wheeler 3-D cake?
Either way, I volunteer to make it for you if you want. :)
to me, autumn has always been the time of year where mother nature begins to snuggle down into herself. all of the blooming and growing and reproducing is tucked back into the earth. i love autumn for that reason - it reminds me of being at home, cozy and tucked in with my people. warmth inside and cold outside.
Well said, Teacher Mommy.
HI there! Beautiful post.
Thank you for sharing your heart. I think mine speaks the same language.
No autumn here -- in fact, where we are today it is probably well over 100 degrees outside. Dry. And the ground is the red color of the leaves you cite. Enjoy the autumn for us, especially for Dad who always misses it so much!
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