To me it’s about death. It’s over. The balmy and comfy weather. The light. My year.
I’m tricked by the colors oh so vibrant and where I live there seems every color imaginable. I’m scared because this signifies the coming of the cold and dark time. There’s nothing new under the sun and I’m one of many who despise the winter months like a rickety and much older man. You can ask however many thousands and thousands of snowbirds that go to locales like Florida and the desert each winter-holing up in places with names like La Vista Bonita and Harbour’s Edge- THEY’VE got it going on. If it wasn’t for the fact that my body plays out more quickly nowadays and that’s exacerbated and compounded by the cold and yes the dark, the colors of the leaves as they fall to the ground would be a much happier occasion.
I enjoy it as much as I can.
And I ought to. I’m connected to the seasons and nature in the most simple, existential, transcendental way. Once fall retreats and winter arrives comes the best time for getting outside and hiking overland, as the underbrush is gone and the going much easier. Hidden by the forest all summer the views become spectacular as mountain ridges appear and the river glistens with a sun trying its best to warm things up. The sky is bigger and more prominent. I do the best job I can to embrace it and keep a healthy perspective and my eye on the big picture.
What, you don’t think about such things?
Note to self. When I’m walking and all bundled up and the leaves are rustling and crunching underfoot, I remind myself that many winters have passed and spring always does come.