Have you ever watched an autumn leaf from the window of a high-rise? For though most go with gravity, there are some unready to find their final resting place. For those intrepid wanders an airborne rollercoaster ride awaits. For above the trees, alongside the migrant birds, they pirouette in unapologetic grace. If this is their last ride, why-ever not make it a long and sweet party?
Even as the leaves fell, the bonny scarlets, golds and browns, I saw them as dirty fragments and frozen beneath wintery ice. In the still warm air, they fall as feathers do, gliding a merry dance upon unseen currents. How very bright they are, how very merry and blithe. Perhaps their blindness is a gift, a chance to enjoy the momental happenings.
As if in response to winter's song, autumn had spun a garland blanket of warmest seasonal hues. Upon the canvas of those reds, yellows and browns, it was easy to see our pumpkin days and mid-winter gatherings.
Though winter’s breath was in the air, autumn remained in full command of her stage. From the hymn of reds and golds above, to the growing carpet of chattering leaves at foot, it was the start of the season of hearth and home.
Autumn leaves blushed hearth-hues above, as if in a solidarity of comfort before the winter came.
As chattering autumn leaves of gold and scarlet buoyant mood, comes a walking group to our near horizon.
The berries come to the autumnal air as the blooms come to the spring, in a triumphant hurrah of colour.
The autumn comes as a gospel choir, harmonised in such a way that celebrates each hue and shows how they belong together.
We are every colour in the trees, my friends and I. We are the gold and reds that carpet the grass. In every breath the autumn is in us too, this feeling of nature flowing back and forth. It is a time for the dancing of spirits as we walk through the cozy hearth that is the park, that energising earthiness that somehow anchors yet propels.
I am a lover of the autumn, of the colours that are bold and homely, strong and yet a call to remember our Earth and all she gives in the harvest months. I could let my eyes soak in those scarlet maple-hands and the golden leaves that create more beauty than I'd ever dare ask for. It is the season of inner calm and a kindly stoicism etched in memories of joy.
The autumn has dressed herself for the coming season, donning her most vibrant hues. She has swept into our streets and woodlands with a humble boldness that invites the eye to see more than they otherwise might. The autumn takes her pirouette, her sweet turn on the stage all around, and we are so blessed to be given such beauty.
The trees are laughing once more, dressed in their carnival clothes, the gold and scarlet of the autumn days. They play about the earthy hues of the branch and trunk, proud flags in any sky. As they do I take in the freshly calm air with that hint of an earthly aroma, the fragrance of homeliness.
And so the autumn arrives with a buoyant lack of subtly, and how I love it so. For sure there are the browns that come as a comforting quilt to the earth, yet the rest are the hues of volcanoes, of firework sparks and festival hoopla. It is as if nature is calling out to the spring and the trees can't help but become as flowers, towering blossoms of flamed foliage to dance into the skies before tumbling as giant confetti to the sidewalks and verges.
The autumn comes with regal ease, content to arrive with slow grace. Though the first leaves have tumbled to the soil so rich with rain, most remain green, fluttering in the strengthening wind. And so, though I'm wishing for that garland of reds and golds, I must be as patient as she.
The autumn will soon be here, a child on tip-toe, excitement in each baby-step. She comes with the magic children breathe, to forge each leaf to gold or perhaps to the red of holly-berries. Each new day I awake, eyes raised to the strong arms of the trees, seeking the first promise of her dance, listening for the sweet rustling music that inspires the wild pirouettes of each earth-bound gift.
The green flags of the trees become sepia toned, waving in the southerly wind. Within the multitude of soft chocolatey browns there is gold shining through, and a blush that brings summer fruits to mind.
The divine conductor brings the soft serenade of the autumn. If comes as a serene music, at first quiet below the high notes of the summer, the ones that dance with a rambunctious joy. At first I'm not sure if I hear it, if it is truly there, and then I am. It comes like a lullaby, a mother's song, to soothe in the most beautiful way. It is the way life gives even when she must take, to show that our dance together is both eternal and wonderful. And so I love each note, this music that comes as reliably as sunrise.
The flamboyant colours of the summer flowers below are soon echoed by the foliage above. It is a second chance to bloom, for the green to glow with new hues as pretty as any petal. It is the promise of the most beautiful rain, the warmest of snowflakes, golds and berry-reds under glossy water, sparkling under morning frost. It is those days before nature stands devoid of adornments and is breathtakingly beautiful just the same.
The autumn is our garland, the grand finale of a successful season. It is the parade we cherish, a grand dance of the foliage that came to brighten our days. It is the time of seeds bequeathed to the soils, of that which takes flight from branch to earth to become new earth itself. It is the gift of the old to the new, supporting, enriching, bringing health as is the natural way of life.
How can we be so in love with photographs and not each passing moment of life? How can we love so much a still leaf of gold and not dance with internal joy when one moves in the breeze or waltzes to join the mosaic of the ground? How can we not love that which brings us into the moment? The chilled rain, perfect spheres to quench the soils, as much as the honesty of wet eyes?
If a hurricane could meet a rainbow, if it could be calmed by the sweetness of a summer choosing to rest her vibrant song, that would be autumn to me. It is when the vibrant overture of life begins to signal for peace and calm. In my youth I thought it was a time to learn patience, to see the coming of winter and let days pass until the spring, no longer. Every season is a season of beauty, every day is something to savour, treasured for what it brings. Adversity is a chance to shine, to rise to challenge; abundance is a chance for joy and rest. So each of these days, as I embrace "what is" and seek ways to bring forth the goodness that "what could be," I feel more of the rainbow and less of the hurricane, am thankful for blessed rain and sunshine alike.
The leaves dance from branch to ground, each a colourful flag without strings or pole, free to roam. I feel the breeze, rich with the aroma of the earth, the keeper of the seeds for the springtime to come. There is a calmness, as if all the gold, berry-reds and browns that flutter about are a cozy quilt, bringing us the same peace as the nighttime. It is the time I once again see how the trees are clad in the many hues of the soil, see how their bark is their fingerprint, speaking to us of beauty in their silent way.
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