Monday, September 28, 2015

shoulder season shining

Autumn is very fleeting around these parts. It's why I have been taking the long way around the block (and maybe around the next block, too, while I am at it) to the newly installed community mailbox. Because I have a feeling that those after-dinner strolls to pick up the mail will lose their charm once the luster of the new experience wears off, sometime around February. Quite possibly considerably sooner.

But even more fleeting are those moments of absolute perfection that happen all too infrequently. You know those moments - the ones that make you stop, or at least slow your step - and tell yourself always remember this precise moment because life does not get any more beautiful than this very moment.

Many of the leaves are down now, but those trees that turn bright yellow seem to hang onto their leaves longer than most, and the evening was simply glowing in the late-day sun. As I rounded the corner on my take-the-long-way-to-the-mailbox post-dinner stroll, I spotted a new Little Free Library in front of the house up the road. Naturally I stopped to read the spines and, as luck would have it, spotted a book that I had been meaning to read for years. 

I tucked the book under my arm - grinning like I had just gotten away with shoplifting - and continued around the curve in the road. And that was where I was struck dumb by the moment. To my left was a green space, treed with those yellow-leafed trees that always look as though the sun is shining directly out of them. They had been transformed into brilliant orbs of light. I took a few more steps and, through a parting in the trees, had a perfect view of the river valley of Fish Creek Park across the road and beyond that the Rockies - the clearest I have ever seen them at that spot - silhouetted in purple against the evening sky. Directly ahead of me, the setting sun dumped a bucket of fluorescent yellow paint on the stand of trees through which it shone. 

It is a brief moment in time that I will add to my list of always remembers that I will pull out of my hippocampus as required and smile at having lived it.  

2 comments:

Erik Donald France said...

To be struck dumb is a marvelous moment, indeed! Cheers to those moments!

Here in Texas, the late summer is reluctant to give up its hot grip, though some leaves have begun to shake loose in honor of Fall.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

We are currently having the best of both seasons, Erik - hot sunny days where you can go outside in bare feet and frosty nights that require an extra blanket. I love Fall!