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Sun, September 16th, 2007 @ 5:29PM
I drove through WNC twice this weekend on my way to see my brother and his family in Winston Salem. I was thrilled to see that a few trees have broken out their brilliant yellow coats. They stood scattered here and there among their greener coutnerparts, annoucing that fall is on its way.
I have experienced approximately 30 falls in Western NC. Yes yes, I am older than 30 but there were some falls I missed because I was out of the country or I was too young to comprehend them. Fall in Montreat, Black Mtn and Asheville defines the experience of this season for me.
I love the fall. The soft, damp smell of fall. The quiet, crisp feel of fall. The subltle shift in the blue sky of fall. I even love the lonely ache that sweeps across me when the leaves burn redorangeyellow and then surrender their posts in the branches.
I never understood the ache that comes with the fall. When I was younger I thought that it might ungulf me and be my demise. I resisted it. It felt so untame and unsafe. I remember closing my eyes as we drove though parts of the Swannanoa Valley so I wouldn't have to meet the beautiful ache face to face.
Later I watched as it fell from trees in a gust of wind above the dam at Lake Susan and I tried to follow it downstream until it got caught between two rocks or washed up on the bank. I collected the smallest, most brililantly colored samples that I could find on a wooded trail and pressed them into a book between wax paper. I wrote about the ache in poems and short stories. I photographed it and stared at it from the safety of my room.
I still don't understand the ache that arrives with fall but I don't fear it anymore. Like an old friend who has been away on a long journey I anticipate its arrival. I lean in and embrace the return of fall.
I have experienced approximately 30 falls in Western NC. Yes yes, I am older than 30 but there were some falls I missed because I was out of the country or I was too young to comprehend them. Fall in Montreat, Black Mtn and Asheville defines the experience of this season for me.
I love the fall. The soft, damp smell of fall. The quiet, crisp feel of fall. The subltle shift in the blue sky of fall. I even love the lonely ache that sweeps across me when the leaves burn redorangeyellow and then surrender their posts in the branches.
I never understood the ache that comes with the fall. When I was younger I thought that it might ungulf me and be my demise. I resisted it. It felt so untame and unsafe. I remember closing my eyes as we drove though parts of the Swannanoa Valley so I wouldn't have to meet the beautiful ache face to face.
Later I watched as it fell from trees in a gust of wind above the dam at Lake Susan and I tried to follow it downstream until it got caught between two rocks or washed up on the bank. I collected the smallest, most brililantly colored samples that I could find on a wooded trail and pressed them into a book between wax paper. I wrote about the ache in poems and short stories. I photographed it and stared at it from the safety of my room.
I still don't understand the ache that arrives with fall but I don't fear it anymore. Like an old friend who has been away on a long journey I anticipate its arrival. I lean in and embrace the return of fall.
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