The Last of Autumn

I like the word Autumn better than the word Fall, but I use them both to describe different aspects of the season. Autumn sounds softer on the tongue, so it makes me think of warm hued trees bathing in October sunlight as the sun cuts a lower path across the sky. It is still and reflective, peaceful with a hint of melancholy.

I am more observant in Autumn, more in the present moment because, unlike summer, the trees and sky change almost daily, the colours go from firey to dull in a matter of days. The sky sings out in a brilliant blue then descends into steel grey in less than an hour. The morning light is different than the evening light. Each tree takes its turn in the spotlight before they are all reduced to their bone structure. If you're too busy driving to work or doing the laundry or--typing on your blog--you can miss it.

 But then Fall, to me, is the final phase. When the wind blows and strips the leaves. When winter becomes more present, and the colours begin their fade to monochrome.

 Nothing gold can stay as the saying goes. But everything that leaves returns again in another form. I enjoy the ephemeral beauty, the fleeting hues, and one way or another I process it and turn it into something new.