Monday, September 15, 2014

Autumn

Crescent Creek Trail

The frenetic pace of summer has come to an end: it’s fall. I know what the calendar says, but the calendar is wrong. We are definitely on autumn’s path.


While many Alaskans bemoan the coming of fall, I welcome it. In fact, if pinned down at the moment, I’d say it’s my favorite season. (Of course, spring is my favorite season during the first warm days of May. And then there’s the sun-filled days of July, when summer is my favorite season. Damn. The bleak beauty of January, with its glistening crystalline formations and white expanses, makes winter my favorite. Okay. I’m conflicted.)   

However, fall allows a person to slow down and take things in. Fall turns the countryside into a kaleidoscope. Each day offers a new view of the familiar.


Fall is a variable treat to the olfactory. The slightly sweet fragrance of grasses ripening and the smell of damp earth combine with the pungent and heady scent of ripened high-bush cranberries. The result is a complicated perfume, both enticing and repulsive. 

“Holy cow! What is that stench?


“Mmmm… high-bush cranberries. Don’t you just love that smell?” 

“No! Well, maybe…  Yeah, it smells sweet and sour, with just a hint of old, sweaty socks.”


Between the slower pace and all the sensory treats, fall is perfect for trying to capture the experience on paper. 





silhouetted spruce
twilight's depthless illusion
which spires are closer











fall colors bleed down
as the frost makes the mountains
Kodachromatic










creek valley fog drifts
summer's spirit rising up
passing on to fall











mercurial fall
the eve's dew is morning frost
melting in the sun






fall's thief September
stealing sunshine from the sky
hoarding it on leaves



Fall Trees

North wind whispers in the spruce,
"Winter follows in my wake."
Sleepy birch nod in agreement
And cast their treasured gold adrift.

In September light they stand,
Watching over steaming lake.
Filligree'd with shaded frost,
And glistening where the sunbeam strikes.

With each and every zephyr's sweeping
The signs of summer glide away.
Soon denuded arms are reaching
To pull the shade of winter's white.

As always, I'd love to hear your comments while I'm waiting for my next favorite season.

So, if you're on Facebook it would be great if you'd "like" my page.  (I haven't been able to figure out how to put the link on the blog. Working on that.)

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