Happy Autumnal Equinox…
Ochres, reds, yellow patchwork on the foothills. Immaculate blue sky. Too perfect. Orchestra of crickets every evening. Smoke tinged air. The winding down of the past verdant season. That strange, yet almost comforting in some sense, melancholy in the air. The days shorten, the shadows lengthen. Pumpkins appear, adorn porches. Break out the long sleeves, fleece jackets. But no need, certainly not this September, to retire shorts and tees. Summer still finds its hold in the afternoon heat.
Run up the foothills, observe the sharpness of color contrasts: evergreens amongst the gold aspens. Stroll along a creek, beneath the kingly canopy of ancient trees. A line from Edward Abbey, from his “Sonnet for Everett Ruess,” springs to mind:
“Gold coin of cottonwoods, the spangled shade…”
Could not be more true. Simple and concrete.
The hills have long since faded from emerald to honey. Fall, with the lower temps and dimming days, the prologue to winter, the guarantee of coming cold: warmth. This is what comes to mind. The warmth of the play of colors on nature’s grand stage. The cool, blue-gray tones are reserved for winter. For now, the last warmth stays. Indian summer. Fading daylight, cooler air makes chlorophyll break down. Horses transform from summer sleek to fall fuzzy. Nostalgia appears. I remember my horse, this time three years ago, as he stood at the tie rail just before the sun dipped. He was getting furrier for the coming winter. It was a quiet day at the barn, save for the cricket or two chirping in the creek side brush. I drank in the sight of him, so relaxed, peaceful. Ears forward, alert. His chestnut coat outlined in gold. A benevolent shaft of sunlight touching his face, his velvet nose. The only indication of his age then was his sway back. I miss him.
Fall is nostalgic. It is a season of both beauty and melancholy. Jim Carrier, in his foreword to photographer John Fielder’s book A Colorado Autumn, says it best: “There is nothing so sweet or sad as a country road in autumn. Nothing that invites us more to enter into beauty. Nothing else tugs so strongly at life that is temporal.” I think of Flash. The tie post is now vacant.
Another line: “The sun angle, the reds and yellows, shadows that give the landscape texture. Still, it is more feel than image, mood over reason.” Yes. There is a different emotion to fall. Summer grants the land vibrant texture as well, but the autumnal landscape is somehow more poignant. Herein is the reason: “Autumn is yang and yin […] Warm days, cold nights, the contrast of snow and grass. The harmony of opposites. That is how we best see, in polarity, life and death—the dualism by which we understand.”
Experiencing true four seasons lays out this dualism, and Colorado is the prime stage. I find it hard to imagine that in just a few weeks, the trees will be bare, the hills brown. Yet I know that this change is inevitable, that I’ve seen it countless times. I love summer, I’m a sun child, yet I appreciate all the seasons. But there is something sublime about fall. Words can almost capture it. Almost. Until the raw beauty of winter hits, I’ll continue to observe and enjoy autumn playing out on Colorado’s foothills—and remembering my beautiful horse silhouetted against the multicolored foliage, a golden image in a golden season.
~LMC
