“ Now Autumn’s fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.” – William Allingham
As my feet moved through the detritus left from recently fallen acorns lying on the unwashed sidewalk, a leaf that came rushing at me turned out to be a mottled brown moth buffeted by a late summer breeze seeking shelter upon a still green bush. These tiny matte jewels falling from the mighty oak tree remind me of how fleeting the days are, leaving me feeling unsettled until I make safe passage into the new season. There are chestnuts falling as well and the road to the sun reflected upon the sparkling sea is becoming more narrow each day, making me yearn for that wide brilliant swathe once again. It’s out of my hands, the seasons are turning, performing their perfect dance, making sure their best profile is on view for all to see.
The primal scent of woodsmoke has begun to permeate the air among the sunshine and scarlet tipped leaves – once lush gardens are being put to bed and I find myself doing the same, refreshing some small corner as I wander through my rooms. It’s time to wrap sun-kissed limbs in layers, fill the apartment with the music of Leonard Cohen, disappear into the realm of Harry Potter and eat crisp apples on walks through the forest.
This organic starship that we are all living on is beginning to fray at the edges, our fragile bodies that harbour heaven-wrought miracles are tearing each other apart. With the change in seasons comes a knowing, before it’s too late we must stop the drum beat of hate battering at our defences, let its hypnotizing rhythm fall away so we can continue to come across a scattering of silver stars on a favourite walk, be followed home by a chattering Steller’s jay and eternally move through space and time.