A moment in autumn

It is a strange moment in the year in this four-season climate. The leaves on the baby redbud are yellow; the older redbud still gives the impression of green, but a yellower green, and the seedpods that hang like beans along the limbs are dark brown, more visible; and the limbs are visible too, like thin black strokes from a technical pen.

The trees that turn orange and red just began to do that last week, and now are changing fast, whole trees lit all around their edges. They are mostly sugar maples, which tend to be shapely trees, the kind landscapers like, straight single trunks and round crowns.

One fall decades ago I was going around in a sort of brown state, and my mind must have been occupied with thoughts. I don't remember why I drove through Blacklick Park, just that I came around a bend in the road and was slammed by the sight of a huge, old maple in full glorious red-orange. I remember feeling punched in my center and gasping, the way characters in novels do. That tree woke me up for a moment.

My neighbor's tree has dropped almost all its yellowed leaves, and brown oak leaves keep blowing in our front door when I get the mail. But most of the woods in our back yard are still abundantly green, even as their branches are more visible, dark with rain. When I drive through the ravine the drooping green seems to be closing in on the road, and I think about how in another month the leaves will be fallen, the woods will be vertical strokes of trunks, and golden light will shine forth from the windows of houses that perch on top of the ravine, like ours, and are usually hidden from view.

When this is over, I'm having a life

This morning I have a small fever, which makes my vision keener, somehow. I enjoyed the concept of taking a sick day, so read the paper thoroughly with my coffee, "wasting" time. This gave me the idea of writing about how the era of Cowboy Greed is going to be officially over when the election results are in.

But I did have a little thing I wanted to do before I got to expressing my thoughts. Get a sympathy card in the mail.

As I was choosing a card from my drawer, thinking about my friend, and remembering how it is to lose your mother, I noticed activity outside the windows. Always hopeful that I will again see a coyote in our backyard wilderness, I looked up. Falling leaves.

Most of the leaves have already fallen. The sturdy hangers-on are coming down one at a time, swirling sideways in the winds. There is a poignancy to this sunny day. The color is as good as it will get, the sky is a rinsed blue. In a week, it will look like winter, and we will be thrown by the end of daylight-savings time into early dark. This added to my desire to complete my little task and sit in front of the window, looking out.

It is a great, sensory and spiritual pleasure just now to sit quietly taking in nature, watching the slant of light change. I noticed a tendency to rush toward this nourishing experience, as if other concerns are interfering with my "real life." I looked at the pretty card I had chosen, and remembered how much it meant to me to hear from people during those long days after a death. I could almost hear a voice saying, This is your real life. All this.

haiku: autumn dawn

still dark
concrete cool underfoot
above the rooftops one star, two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~