Snapshots

I missed it.

I feel like Annie Dillard missing the very moment of the happening of spring, despite her diligence. Only I’ve missed the very moment of the happening of fall. I knew it would happen. That whole abandoning ship at peak thing ensured I’d be derailed. And I was.

For months, I’ve been taking pictures of the exact same place on my morning walk. I fancied a big commitment. One picture from the same vantage point for every single day of the year. Who am I kidding? There is no way that could happen. First of all, I am not here on every day of the year, and there is no possibility that that will be changing. Secondly, I don’t always take that walk. Let’s not talk about it. Sixth, and lastly, a whole year of commitment? I chuckle.

The process of trying, though, without such grand expectations except in my delusional dream world was enlightening. The things you notice when you focus on one particular place over a period of time. I was excited to see that full gamut of autumn I so recently talked about. And then I started packing and stopped watching. I got distracted. And now it’s over.

(The trip to the Shore, by the way, was worth every hint of foiled dreams.)

Alack and alas. If Dillard can miss it, and I am a far more capable specimen when it comes to inattention, I didn’t have a chance. But I am in good company. Not so shabby.

I was right about the Elm outside the bedroom window though. It’s still spewing green like a champ, oblivious of the strip tease going on all around it. Some days I would do well to be that oblivious to the carnage around me, and just spew forth the light.

There are still a handful of scarlet leaves clinging to Karen’s maple out the back door. It appears that they may hang on forever. They have no intention of letting go, even though the bulk of their comrades have already fallen. It’s a bit strange-looking, really. Sparse. Yet bright and beautiful. I like it. I wonder if they will indeed stick for a while. It would be nice, to have this splash of color resting out the window, just beyond the reaches of the deck. Such a bleak backdrop, yet red. Karen would approve.

There are carved pumpkins on the back deck, below the red splashes of life, and whole ones adorning the front, where we come and go. The downed leaves still haven’t been eradicated from the yard, and the lawn hasn’t been mowed, but the wood did get hauled over, and we’re enjoying the fire. And I think that’ll do just fine.

If you need me, I’ll be taking another picture,
KJ