No. 35: To fear no future

The meadow in autumn

How do you write change
from the inside, when you can’t
begin to see it?

Been building for years,
but to us, everything changed
in the time to blink.

Passed briefly, summer
and I, distracted, unsure
about the weather.

Old friends now strangers
pulled apart by opp’site tides
to fear no future.

---

Dear Friends,

My after dinner walks are now buried in darkness. Or almost, depending on when I finally step out the door; there might still be a faint twilight hovering over the northwestern horizon. I bring a flashlight for the short stretch of road walk between our place and the nature center to fend off the automotive evil spirits that would destroy us without notice. Hop the guardrail, though, and I’m on hallowed ground, absorbed by the meadow and the river and the darkness. The damp aroma of fading vegetation, loamy leaf litter, and the day’s residual warmth greets me. The quiet crunch of stone on the newly laid accessible path sets a rhythm to my stroll, marking time.

Finally, I am returning to the meadow almost daily, after a hiatus of more than two months. On July 10th and 11th the North Branch River overflowed its banks and flooded the hell out of the place. It took weeks for the river mud and standing water to dry out. Which was plenty of time for the infernal mosquitos to infest the entire riparian corridor, making my habitual walking path fiercely inhospitable – even the dog couldn’t bear it. The river ran fast, high, and muddy for weeks as well, so swimming was risky. The meadow and I became strangers, close friends drifting apart, occasionally waving to each other in passing from across the way.

Now October opens up, like milkweed pods bursting with fractal seeds. White silk splays delicate brown discs, each a secret promise I hope to discover next year. The saturation of summer’s greens on the meadow and mountains finally fades, surprising me again with autumn’s wealth of umber and sienna tones, of myriad shades of yellows, oranges, and reds, of residual purples in late flowers. The maples, birches, and beeches breathe in the light and air, shaking their leaves to carpet the forest floor. Sun dapples as the forest opens up to receive it, almost with a sigh of relief.

Which is what I do with each deep breath in the meadow. Summer, be gone! Give me back a world I recognize and remember, that season of my youth which chills the neck and warms the face. Summer! You disappointed us, you scared us, you raged with your deluge and floods, taking back what was never ours to begin with. I can’t blame you, but it hurt nonetheless. Obstinate, we humans are slow to learn the lessons the Earth would teach. Here I am again, fighting the change unfolding before my eyes, avoiding, denying, procrastinating all the ways the Earth will mete out its perfect justice. But for today, let autumn comfort me, settling into its familiar patterns, colors, smells, and waves of melancholic nostalgia. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes my soul.

From the cusp,

Jeremy

View of the North Branch River and meadow from the road above