Seasons

Autumn in the Shenandoah

Image © 2015 by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

For as long as I can remember, I have looked forward to the coming of autumn.  Part of that arose from living in Missouri and after enduring the heat and humidity of summer, how wonderful was the arrival of much cooler and drier air.  But always the best experience was the turning of the leaves.

For about three weeks, the world became a bright cacophony of color as the trees turned from green to spectacular reds and golds.  As the leaves began to fall, there came that remarkable smell that arose from the ground as I walked through the forest, kicking up the leaves.  Fall was always a time when my spirits rose and joy returned.  One strong memory lives, a day when I took my motorcycle and rode along western Pennsylvania's twisty, windy roads dappled in sunlight and leaves.  Towards evening, the light from the setting sun slanted through the trees and made the already vivid colors even more spectacular.  I remember the cool, scented air flowing past as I negotiated the tight curves.  It was one of those singular moments when I felt amazingly intensively alive.

Along with the change of seasons came the change of wardrobe.  Shorts and t-shirts were packed away to be replaced by jeans and sweaters.  I loved wearing a sweater while being outside in autumn.  The nights grew chillier until the first frost.  Those mornings saw the early sunlight illuminating that silvery patina on the grass.  There was a snap to the air that pulled energy from deep inside and planted a smile on my face.  The best time was in late October when the leaves were at peak.  For about two glorious weeks, the world became beautiful and exciting.  Of course, that never lasted as long as I would have liked.  Once the leaves lost their colors and dropped to the ground, we had a few weeks where the world became shrouded in a kind of noir, consumed in brown and black.  Then came that interminable wait until the snow began to fly, covering the dead landscape with a blanket of white lit by jewel-like ice crystals by the sheer brilliance of the winter sunlight.

When we lived in Virginia, I made an annual pilgrimage to Shenandoah National Park.  Along Skyline Drive, the trees were brilliant in their colors.  I made frequent stops at the pullouts along the road where I could see hundreds of square miles of autumn foliage laid out at my feet.  Some things in life get old after awhile.  That view never did.  And when I look through my collection of my very amateur photography, it still never gets old.

Contrary to what you might have heard, there are seasons here in Hawai'i.  Basically two, this summer and last summer.  Winter here is not all that different, perhaps a bit more rain.  But the temperatures in January are only about six degrees lower on average than during summer.  For kama'aina's, that's a pretty significant difference.  But for someone like me who grew up on the mainland, its barely noticeable.  In my life, there were four seasons, one hot, one cold, and two in between that defined the passage of the days.  I miss seasons.  I miss the spring when wildflowers bloomed along the Appalachian Trail, where I followed a dirt path lined with the gentle blue of bluebells.  I remember how life returned to the forest, the sound of birdsong after months of winter silence.  Animals were about and feeding, from the humble field mouse to the hungry and grouchy black bears.  Summer brought the heat, yes.  But in the evening, a chorus of crickets and tree frogs, punctuated by the occasional hooting of an owl.  To me, it was a song, one that was taught to me as a young child, and even today opens the floodgates to memories long dormant.  

Winter was snow.  And cold.  And ice storms.  As I grew older, I spent less time on a sled and more time behind the wheel, it became less fun.  But that first real snowfall, the flakes floating out of a slate-gray sky and gradually covering the ground was still a beautiful thing. 

But Autumn will always be my favorite, a time where my best recollections lie waiting to be picked up, felt, and savored once again.

I remember one day I was jogging through Vienna, Virginia.  The leaves had peaked and were beginning to drop.  Suddenly, I realized that it was November 1st, and October, my favorite month, was gone for another year.  I felt cheated, that those 31 days had flown by without my being able to really enjoy them, or even to seemingly draw an appreciative breath.  It was in that moment that I realized how precious each day was, and how important it was to grasp the memories as they happened, and store them away carefully in that beautiful treasure chest that is the human heart.  Time steals those days, for once they are past, they can never be brought back.  The future is still coming, but in between what came before, and what will come soon is that time of opportunity and awareness we call "now."  

That is the gift that must never be squandered.