Right after class on October 28th, I rushed to see what my sit spot had in store for me. It was chilly and had just rained, my shoes sloshed through the mud as I made my way to Carvin’s Creek. The warm scent of rain filled my nostrils and the water lingering in the air rested itself on my skin (and, unfortunately, my now frizzy hair). Days like these, foggy, melancholy, and wet, always remind me of a word: rebirth. Rain brings about change and a chance for new life, a chance to start again.

I am shocked to report how quickly Autumn has grasped my little cove and made it it’s own. Few leaves adorn branches of the surrounding trees, though they litter the ground like a crunchy, brown carpet. The beautiful Tulip Poplar that I noticed just a week ago for its brightness and beauty is now a dismal sight to behold, bare and naked. Signs of life are few and far between. At least, it seems so before I really tune in. Birds sing and dance as I, the sole member of their audience, gaze on in wonder. Trees whistle and sway with the wind, like a slow and steady orchestra accompaniment to the birds’ performance. Maybe this Autumn day isn’t so dismal after all.

The Tulip Poplar Last Week vs. This Week

Among the birds, a brightly colored and spritely fellow grabs my fancy. He is a blue jay, and his commanding presence almost demands my attention. He wears a brilliant blue feather coat that reminds me of the dark sapphire of the Atlantic Ocean and thus, of home. I’m sure his stylish wear attracts all the ladies. His eyes are a vast darkness that I imagine I can see my own reflection in if only I looked hard enough (or perhaps if I had stronger prescription lenses in my glasses). They are so black, and he is so observant, I picture his eyes as some omniscient black hole, taking in everything that they see. I watch as he flies to and fro, and as the other birds part like the Red Sea when they see him; I watch as he nibbles on some delight unknown to me high in the treetops above my head; and, finally, I watch as he flit-flutters away, never pausing to look back.

 

As I am astonished by the quickness of decay with the progression of the season, so, too, am I astonished by the rate at which my observed objects have changed in just a week. The purple aster is all but dead and only one small flower hangs on. I feel as though it calls to me, one last effort to save its species from oblivion. Alas, I cannot change the way of life, but I know that it will bloom again one sunny spring morning not too far from now. The pink knotweed tries a bit harder as a few flowering appendages cling to life. I wonder, is Autumn the culprit behind this plant’s demise, or perhaps the animals that find it all too delicious? Even the spiderweb succumbs to the coming winter dreary. It has detached from a twig and lost some of its structural integrity. I wonder if Mrs. Spider will take up the role of architect once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Purple Aster, Pink Knotweed, and a Spiderweb

I decided to examine a one square meter area directly next to me. It was hard for me to tune in at first, but once I did, I was surprised by the amount of life in this small space. A small weed resembled a redbud tree, with its heart-shaped leaf smiled up at me. However, a woody stem was nary to be found. Next, I observed all the tiny little clovers sprouting up everywhere, just like the clover I have been attentively watching. I admire the plant for its hardiness, just last week a few of them had been crushed. I thought they were dead, but they dealt with the trauma by coming back even stronger. Decomposing leaves crunched under my hand and reminded me that all things, at some point must come to an end, no matter how beautiful. Autumn is my favorite season, though the vibrant colors are struck down by the cold after a fleeting moment, and the evidence was right here in my hand. I think its best to take life as it comes, beautiful things may be fleeting, but, like clover, we learn from our past and blossom into better things.