When we had a late start to spring, including the aspen trees leafing out one or two weeks later than usual, I expected that the aspen would last later into fall, maybe through mid-October. Plus, the summer was so bountiful, how could my good fortune not continue into fall?
But something went wrong, because the colors are fading away and turning pale instead of their usual brilliant gold. Maybe we got too much rain, and all that moisture caused a blight, because the aspen leaves have brown splotches on them. Instead of the colors lasting until mid-October or even later, the trees have taken a quick death, going before their time—or at least before the time I expected. Now the flashiest color is the red of the rosehip (below), which was bountiful this year.
Most autumns, I have a schedule for seeing the fall colors. I start out hiking in areas that will be first hit by frost—up in the high country, close to tree line. I then move lower down the mountain to trails where the aspen bloom later, and finish the fall celebration in the foothills above Boulder. I know where the best pockets of changing aspen are, and it’s still a mystery why two stands of aspen, 100 feet apart, are on different schedules.
Although most of the aspen around the cabin have shed their leaves, this week I found a tall stand near Fritz’s Pond (below). I sat in this light-filled grove and listened to the leaves in the wind— the closest thing to silence yet a soft and tender reminder that the world was alive. It sounded like yearning—for fall to never end, for winter to never start or for life to continue.
The next morning I sat outside in the cold chill, letting the sun warm me. When the aspen leaves started chattering, what I heard was “hurry, hurry, hurry,” as in get ready for winter, like the frantic gray squirrels running up and down the fence carrying pine cones to their winter dens. Don’t waste life on useless thoughts; get moving.
But when I listened deeper, I heard “accept” and a reminder that life continued. Even though the aspen trees and willow bushes were shedding their leaves, and the grasses have all turned brown, life was still here, although it had retreated underground, where it would renew itself all winter. I could hear the hum.