The following is another snippet from my upcoming book … one that did not make the cut for Writing on the Landscape.
Blazes of color. Breezes that sharpen the air. Greens have faded again—and as the nights cool, magic happens in tree leaves so that we awaken to find a fiery spectacle of glory. Grasses have died and the refreshment of autumn rains begins to dampen the soil that has been thirsty for more than a season. The days are beginning to shorten in a very noticeable way this week. What was vibrant and verdant is now falling to the ground as decaying stuff that returns nutrients to the waiting land. Vistas open up as leaves begin to drop off limbs. But the grace of a death that is adorned with such intense colors—auburns, golds, reds—reminds us that the life cycles are part of what is normal, what is natural. The moonrises appear exceedingly orange, close, impossibly-large.
Transition. Moderation. Autumn is the season that closes the door on the rampant activity of the physical, traveling summertime. For it is in the harvests of autumn and turning inward that we begin to see the bounty that was. It is time for routine, rest, reflection.
And this looking inward turns us to the place of emotions, perhaps memories with feelings we have forgotten. Perhaps dreams that we put on hold, that require energy and effort that our out-in-the-summer landscapes pushed away. As the light diminishes, we begin to see the dark parts of ourselves: those hidden, those we do not prefer to spend time with, those that are nonetheless very instructive and rich places for us to spend a season exploring.”
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2017 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."