autumn suntree

autumn suntree
Originally uploaded by c'estbonne

I walked during lunch today--along the dirt road across the railroad tracks, flanked by quiet homes on one side, pasture and mountains on the other. A sublime afternoon, with the late fall sun warming the remaining tansy leaves by the roadside, steeping their spicy fragrance into the air like a fine-brewed tea. In the tall aspen grove on the north side, tree trunks shone a dignified white, bright and unmoved by the fluttering loss of leaves. The two apple trees in the smaller pasture stood bare and slightly huddled with experience; the dry grasses rasped and rustled randomly in pale gold.

This is the type of day that is autumn's kind parting gift to us as we move into the colder, darker days of the year. Time is suspended for a few hours, and if we are still, we are able to notice the thousand small beauties released by summer's dying. Snowberries wait, white and ripe, on their bushes for whatever creature seeks them; chickadees flit and forage through the smaller trees; field mice scurry occasionally beneath the bent grass; and the landscape has matured from variations on green into an entire palette of straw gold, deep mustard, rust brown, honey, forest and crimson. The sky is bluer than in spring, as if it has aged and ripened along with earth's fruits. And the drier air wanders more freely, with a clarity not earned by summer's heat.

Treasure the small things in the season, whichever one you're in. We may repeat seasons, we may take them for granted, we may assume we know what they're about and not take the time to look again. But Now is what we have, and when we give it our attention, there is no telling what new joy we may discover there.