Regardless of my feelings about the weather this fall, it certainly has surpassed itself in terms of color. I can't remember a fall as vivid as this one in recent years. This particularly struck me on the one sunny day we've had in the last week or so. As the sun came out the trees underwent a miraculous transformation--they were golden, and burning red, and various shades of orange; the world lit up in the light of these colors.
I couldn't help thinking to myself, seeing the world going up in a flame of color, that trees really know how to die. They have perfected the art of dying in a blaze of glory, and if I have to die, that's how I would prefer to go.
But when humanity dies, we spend ourselves in a sea of pastels--silvers and grays, sometimes blue, muted colors that will not overwhelm or alarm our senses, that won't shock us into a premature departure. Since this thought about the art of dying entered my head I have been thinking about my grandma--she was 98 when she died, and she was a picture of the silvery state of old age: white hair, translucent skin, faded blue eyes, soft, soft hands, and a voice growing rusty after so many years of use. She is forever in my memory that way, stuck as "always-old." I wonder what it would be like to remember her in her younger days, when she had long auburn hair and bright blue eyes--features I can only imagine as her photos are all black and white.
We die in so many ways...the old dying slowly and softly, fading into shadows of themselves, while the trees set themselves ablaze, daring us not to notice their descent into winter.
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3 comments:
I was thinking the same- how colorful this fall has been. It's especially pretty along the lake here.
There's a lot to read into all of this. Suffice it to say you have written well, old friend.
Reminds me of this from Anne Lamott:
"The leaves of the delicate Japanese maple between Mattie's window and the wobbly fence were still green, but elsewhere in the garden were russets and butterscotch-oranges, other trees giddy with color, almost garish, like gypsy dresses. When she strained to listen, she could almost imagine them saying, We gave you shade, and now we'll give you a little kick-ass beauty before we die."
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