Fill me full of Fall, for the eighth of what has become my
annual leaving for the leafing.
This little northerly jaunt each Autumn is a time of
reflection, a gathering of thoughts, a rejuvenation of spirit, one that I look
forward to long before it arrives, grateful for its nurturing affects that
linger considerably after.
Another year has begun departure. The kick-off event; a
dazzling display here in the northern south courtesy of Oaks, Cypress, Ginko,
Elm, Poplar, Sassafras, Sumac, and Maples, always the Maples which seem most
anxious to strut their brilliant stuff. And no wonder, they do have so much to
offer, with shades of yellow, orange, red, black, and beautiful combinations of
any of these. Even the Poison Ivy that slowly slithered around dark trunks of
summer hosts, now here in Autumn, is proudly worn by Fall forests like strands
of strung rubies.
Unlike the screeches, shrieks, squawks, and wails from large
southern tropical birds of home, eight hundred miles away, here in the northern
south I bask in the lighter, sweeter bird songs overhead. These combine with
the scampers of chipmunks and squirrels across crisp carpets, dry leaves that
have had no choice but to let go, while butterflies still enjoy slurps of
nectar from late blooming flower cups.
Altogether it is what draws me, why I come here. I attend
this grand affair to bear witness of the living cycle that at year’s final quarter,
begs me stop, make some effort to bridle the shock, that it is indeed time to
wrap up another.
At least this once yearly, I relish my melancholy.
Yes, I know, a curious oxymoron, but I find great solace in
facing what ails or has ailed, when quietly surrounded by God in His handiwork.
When, and where the constant commotion of dailies are dulled, I am “dwarfed”
(Jackie Kendall) by Him, instead of by them. And that is ever so much the preferable
dwarfing! There is great comfort knowing none of it, this living business that
I allow myself to think I am orchestrating, is, ever has been or ever will be, my
burden to figure out after all. Every sense is reawakened, renewed, as I remember,
“re-member” (Ann Voskamp).
When we were both young, the year and I, there were hopes, sprouting
like tiniest buds on bare branches that up until then appeared lifeless.
Spring promised.
Before we knew it life’s youth like Spring’s buds, burst
into full Summer bloom, lavish, dressed to the nine’s, ten’s even. Perfection
from hair to shoes, Summer’s waist sashed in beautiful gardens, her lush locks
laden with bustling aviary villages, and her dancing toes sprinkled with
butterflies, dragonflies, and buzzing bees. Unrivaled opulence. Strong limbs
extended invitation to climbers, and swingers, while protecting gently from
stinging rays.
She tirelessly nurtured.
Time goes. Not fast really, it simply goes, little by
little, almost imperceptibly, until one day looking up to the sky, one sees the
dark undulating formations in choreographed unison, light gently in long rows
on the wires. Migration has begun. What time is it anyway? The light of evening
grows shorter, deceives. Pumpkin spice invades.
Summer’s sweet chariot swings low. She smiles and cues her
princess wave, looking back, looking ahead.
The weather report states a cool front is coming, and riding
in on it, evidence that Autumn popped in for her brief annual visit. She is
tenacious against her inevitable defeat, doing her very best to be spectacular.
Undeniably admirable, she dresses like gypsy royalty, layering colors and
patterns without regard to fashion etiquette. She can arrive early or late,
it’s her own affair, and can stay until she is kicked out, which is exactly
what she does. Autumn is willing to risk the steal to third with every
intention of sliding into home, safe. Autumn reminds, rewinds the year,
simultaneously preparing for the little of it that remains.
It surprises me, who loves a perpetual summer, how much I
crave the fall season. We are a lot alike, Autumn and me. We both have invested
the best we had to work with to reach this place and time. Now here, every intention is to dazzle,
delight, and defy, until at last, we each are ushered out.
P.J.
To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose
under heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we
shall reap if do not lose heart.
Galatians 6:9
A Lyrical Melody Medley
We’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams,
You’ve been all over the place
and it’s been all over you
There’s no such place as Neverland,
Peter Pan.
I can’t stand to fly
Men weren’t meant to ride
with clouds between their knees
We call them fools
who have to dance within the flame,
convinced it’s not living
if you stand outside the fire.
I’ve wasted time
I’ve wasted breath
I think I’ve thought myself to death.
Turn up the collar on my favorite coat
This wind is blowin’ my mind.
Every storm runs out of rain,
like every dark night turns to day.
Pull in to town,
step off the bus,
shake off the where you came from dust.
Driving along, just me, the Autumn road, and mountain radio stations,
changed often. I was struck by the music’s cleverness of words. This is a bit of
creative credit to those writers whose prose and rhymes resonated in the
moments.
