Some quick Autumn thoughts

The time has changed, the trees have changed, and the land readies itself for the slow time. Spring and Summer have come and gone and the land and trees are due their rest from the havoc that this past summer has brought us. Severe drought in both the southeast and southwest have taken their toll on the land and people. Floods and storms filled in the other parts that were "spared" from the drought. It has been a tumultuous weather year.

Just a few weeks ago I was driving along the interstate across North Carolina for several hours. In between the concrete human city pits, there are long stretches of forest and fields. Even with the ravages of the dry hot weather this past summer, the trees still burst forth in full fall regalia. The deep reds and brilliant golds interleaved with oranges, browns, yellows, and even greens seemed to blaze in the afternoon sun. It was a moment to hang onto.

But just a week ago I was driving the same path along the interstate across North Carolina in the reverse direction under early morning overcast skies dripping with a misty rain. The day was not too cold, but soggy and chilly, the kind of chill that just makes you shiver and want to crawl into a warm bed under thick quilts.

What a contrast to the previous week. Where there were trees basking in the sunlight exhibiting just how beautiful this world was created, there now were trees seeming to hover in the shadow of the sky, saddened by the end of summer. A bleakness and melancholia permeated the land and trees.

Or was it just me?

I pondered that question for an hour or so as the gray-brown landscape slipped past me as I headed ever onward. It was the kind of question you take on when stuck in a situation like driving for a few hours. Months of this drive have driven me from every radio station that dares broadcast along my route and singing to myself is both tiring and annoying, mostly because I cannot sing. So I do a lot of thinking in the car.

I decided that you will see what you want to see in a situation. I know the idea is not quite novel or earth-shattering, but it is definitely a reality to be considered.

Why did I see celebration of color one week and the despair of the land the next? It has to do with direction mostly. The afternoon trek was heading home to wife and family. It was a trip I looked forward to all week. It was leading to joy of family. It took me home. But the morning trip was heading to work away from home for the week. It took me away from wife and family. It took me away from where my heart remains, with my family. It simply was taking me away.

One cannot overlook the effect of the weather as well. Certainly those dreary overcast days can be difficult to muster the same joy that accompany bright sunshine and puffy little white clouds. But its effect, at least on me, is quite limited. While I would not want all my days to be overcast, I actually like some overcast days. It sets me in the mood for reflection and liberates my mind from sun-induced expectations of emotion and disposition. On those overcast days, I don't have to be happy or sad or anything, I can just be.

You see, on overcast days, other people are somewhat moody too, and they will most likely leave you to yourself. Sometimes that is just what I need. But not always and that is why I only like to have some overcast days.

But for now, I sit here at my computer looking out a fully windowed wall at the remaining brilliant golds, reds, oranges, yellows, and browns of a lingering fall color explosion, still resplendent in bright sunlight with little puffy white clouds overhead. These are the vestiges of Autumn tumbling to the side as Winter draws in its icy breath, ready to blow away the leaves and the warmth of the sun for a few months.

Maybe it really isn't that beautiful outside. I see it as beautiful, but I guess that is really the point anyway. 


Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)