Fact is, I have had too many posts in mind recently to write any of them. Then I remembered that today is Friday, and that Lisa-Jo would have a prompt with which to prompt me. And so I was prompted, and wrote for five minutes, give or take — I was interrupted in their midst. It may not be extremely coherent, but it gets at a bit of what I’ve been trying to write for days. While you read, you might click here and listen to Antonio Vivaldi’s interpretation of Autumn, because it rather accurately expresses my feelings, too.
“Look!” That is what we kept saying, travelling up in Downeast Maine last week. Look at the blue water. The golden leaves. The red boat. The white lighthouse. The shimmer of sun on waves, the waving of wind in trees, my cold self with a scarf wrapped around my ears.
It was beautiful. In every new town I imagined myself a resident, pictured out a picturesque life: me walking on the coastline in the sunshine, sitting, drinking chocolate, looking at snow-drifts.
But then it was time to come home. And in spite of all the looking, all the lives I had pictured, I wasn’t sorry. It was good to hear southern accents again when we changed planes in Atlanta, good to look out the plane window and see our own green-treed state. Good to see home and the life that belongs to me now.
Autumn has come here, too. The colors are subtler, but you have only to look and to listen: wild wind, shimmer of sun on pond, leaves swirling down and acorns like gun shots hitting the metal roof.
Fall makes me giddily glad, coming in all its pomp, demanding I look. Fall songs and fall poetry focus on its sadness: things passing away. But for all its fleetingness, I cannot be sorry to see it.
There will be time to mourn the leaves when they are gone; now is the time to go out and have our fill of looking.
©2012 by Stacy Nott