Cabin Journal: Endless Summer

Last May, it seemed that summer would never arrive at my cabin. Not only did it snow, but the weather stayed cold, with lots of rain, into July. It wasn’t until mid-July that it started getting warm and felt like summer. And now, even though the calendar says it’s autumn, summer won’t end. At the cabin, daytime temperatures have been in the low 70s, which has felt hot while I’ve been standing on a ladder painting the trim of the east-facing window.

Almost no rain has fallen since August, and every day the sky has been cloudless. But that big blue sky feels almost threatening, as if it were holding back some badly needed moisture. Everything is crunchy underfoot. And there should have been snow on Mount Meeker by now, so its brooding dark flanks feel empty, bereft of something crucial.

And yet everything else is on schedule; the aspens have turned golden; the ground squirrels have apparently gone into hibernation (based on not seeing any), and the nights are getting cold, with temperatures in the 30s.

On Tahosa Creek, I sit and watch the leaves blow from the trees and float down the creek, their golden outlines etched against the clear water. Where the water becomes more turbulent, the creek grabs them and pulls them under, where they twist and tumble in this translucent medium, only to pop back up to the surface when the creek hits a slower and deeper place. It’s a languid and lovely dance between the tug of the river and the fragility and tenderness of the leaves.

And yet, amid all the autumn glory, I find it hard to stay present, because when I focus on the last of the leaves on the trees and on the golden grasses and willow bushes, I become aware that this glorious beauty is ending soon and the landscape will slip into a state that’s more bare and severe. I don’t want to hear that message, want to stay immersed in these fall days forever, so my mind keeps shutting down, keeps distracting itself with different stories, so I don’t feel this sadness in front of me. As the leaves blow down and are swept downstream, who knows where the current will take us?

Comments

You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

This change of season has been tough for me too--tougher than most years. I loved the summer, which in Boulder was hot and wonderful day after day. I didn't want it to end. Now I don't want the golden autumn to end either. So much wishing we do against reality, yes? It's a daily practice to breathe, to trust the current, even when it leads into winter. Thanks for your lovely images and writing.

Posted by: Priscilla | October 06, 2010 at 01:33 PM