As the last of the aspen leaves fall from the trees, pushed along by strong winds over the last few days, I feel a shift in the world. It feels like the last few months of smoky and hot weather have ended and something else is opening up. Perhaps the jet stream that was holding everything in place has finally broken down, and new fresh air is coming in. Everything seems lighter, like months of stagnation have ended, and there’s a new world coming. It’s more than the arrival of winter, which has been delayed by our still warm weather and lack of moisture.
Like a tipping point, this time between the heat and dryness of summer and the snow and cold of winter is brief. It’s like being on the top of the roller coaster, after you’ve slowly, agonizingly climbed up from the bottom, and you’re poised at the top, before the rush downward to something you don’t know. But at the top, there’s a pause, a hush almost, as if everything has been leading up to this moment.
This week, the path along Mill Creek in Rocky Mountain National Park was strewn with dried aspen leaves, as if laid down for royalty or for a wanderer to follow to some unknown but sacred place. In the creek the bright leaves clung to the dark rocks, thick enough to form small aspen dams. Above me, the tops of the aspens danced in the wind, beckoning me to join them. I let them sway me, while keeping one eye on the trail, in case someone came along and caught me in the act of rapture.
The air was redolent with the smell of drying vegetation, while the wind gathered up the last of the aspen leaves and sent them soaring and tumbling through the air. For now, let the winds carry me where they will.
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