Color of Today

The air blew up the river, billowing and bustling everything around us. Fall leaves swirled in big swoops. My hair went every which way as I pushed the stroller against the breeze.

It was an odd sort of day, one that felt more spring-like than autumn, a final hurrah before more brisk fall weather set in. There was a sense of get-out-and-enjoy-it-now energy, as if every living being was aware that the gentle temperatures would soon pass.

Vultures circled overhead, playing in the wind pockets as they surveyed the landscape for their next meal. There was a sense they were hunting not out of desperation as sometimes happens in colder weather, but rather were half hunting, half enjoying the day.

As I cherished the unusual weather, I noticed how many leaves were blowing along my path rather than on the branches overhead. We are definitely past peak, when it comes to the autumn-thing. In spite of the recent spring-like climate and a long, drawn-out, delayed height of foliage color, nature is definitely moving swiftly onto winter ideas.

This autumn has been a unique one for me personally. I have found myself being aware of the seasons’ colors more poignantly than ever before. Back in September before we lost any leaves, the color of the day was bright, photosynthesis green. I seemed to be wrapping myself in it—redesigning my website www.dreamcatching.net with a design that radiated the hue I was seeing everywhere.

During “green season” you would look up in the trees and it felt as if the leaves were positively singing—could that be possible? It was as if they too were having a last hurrah before other things to come.

The next season that consumed my awareness was yellow. One day, I snapped a photo of yellow leaves absorbing the sun. They were at their most beautiful before their edges turned brown and the brilliance of amber started fading to something more obscure.

Finally, just this week, the color in my awareness became red. The Japanese Maples in our neighborhood have reached a crescendo just when every other tree seems to be fading away. The red is so bright it’s nearly fluorescent. I map my walks out now by the trees—these little pockets of maples marking my way that scream—notice me, notice me, cherish me because I am about to go. It happens so quickly, the next time I look—all the leaves are gone, surrounding the base of the trunk in a soft carpet, becoming food for the next crop of leaves two whole seasons away.

As I strive to cherish the newness in each day, I am reminded that like the colors of Fall, today is soon to pass into another brilliant season that, while different, will also bear noticing with joy.