Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
Time flows downstream. The robustness of the dog day slips quietly into the cool, delicate crispness of fall. Lush green surrenders to subtle sage, then flames out in yellow, red, gold, ultimately capitulating in a gentle rain of husks.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
The steadfast oak, imposing fully leafed, shrinks as its foliate armor, its bluster, dries and falls away, providing a glimpse of the inner structure, the branches, the trunk, the very skeleton of its being. It is the same, at its heart, as it was, but summer bulk yields to a visage of stark frailty as the year slips away.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
But at its core, at its roots, the oak remains solid. Time exposes, weakens, but fall does not break. That’s winter’s work. But it’s not yet winter’s time, though all rivers flow ultimately in that direction. Fall is a reminder of that.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
So while summer is celebrated, is clung to with the tenacity of youth, fall uncovers the
underlying landscape, the slope of the land heretofore hidden by the exuberance of greenery. The true nature of the oak and its world is unveiled. Visible then is the substance. Character is revealed within the inevitability of decline, within the arrival of this waning season. It is the way of things.
Summer is turning to autumn.
I can feel it in my bones.
Time flows downstream. The robustness of the dog day slips quietly into the cool, delicate crispness of fall. Lush green surrenders to subtle sage, then flames out in yellow, red, gold, ultimately capitulating in a gentle rain of husks.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
The steadfast oak, imposing fully leafed, shrinks as its foliate armor, its bluster, dries and falls away, providing a glimpse of the inner structure, the branches, the trunk, the very skeleton of its being. It is the same, at its heart, as it was, but summer bulk yields to a visage of stark frailty as the year slips away.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
But at its core, at its roots, the oak remains solid. Time exposes, weakens, but fall does not break. That’s winter’s work. But it’s not yet winter’s time, though all rivers flow ultimately in that direction. Fall is a reminder of that.
Summer is turning to autumn. I can feel it in my bones.
So while summer is celebrated, is clung to with the tenacity of youth, fall uncovers the
underlying landscape, the slope of the land heretofore hidden by the exuberance of greenery. The true nature of the oak and its world is unveiled. Visible then is the substance. Character is revealed within the inevitability of decline, within the arrival of this waning season. It is the way of things.
Summer is turning to autumn.
I can feel it in my bones.
10 comments:
Beautiful Mike. The cold rain pounding on my roof as I write this is an exclamation point to your words. Feel it in my bones indeed.
Wonderful... as usual.
And then the snow comes, at least up this way. As much as I hate the cold and the snow, I love wandering through once dense woods leaving foot prints behind.
Speaking of bones, been telling the wife for the past two weeks my bones have been aching more than usual. It's still dry, no rain and yet my bones are aching. I'm predicting a tough winter. I shouldn't be hurting this much.
Thanks Jason. The rain was falling as I wrote this post as well, perhaps adding to the melancholy.
I appreciate that Chris. Hope you are settling in back at home. Finally.
Ken, it snows seldom here but, when it does, I love it too. As for the portent of a tough winter, it's probably just that it's another winter, another year. This piece was as much about that as anything.
Marrow.
I can feel it in my bones.
Okay, actually I can't.
But wouldn't it be weird if I could?
Actually Alex, nothing would be weird coming from you. Wait. Boring. That would be weird.
Regarding your bones, Mike, may I suggest an over-the-counter analgesic? ;)
Nice work, sir.
NSAIDs are wonderful things. :-)
Mike- Great piece. Fall is such a transitional time of year, it always brings mixed feelings from people.
Thank you, Peter. I love fall. It has always been my favorite season of the year. But as a metaphor for life, as I enter my own personal autumn, it now gives me pause.
Thanks for stopping by and leaving a note. I appreciate it.
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