Thursday, February 14, 2013

"Do not go gentle..."



10-2-2012 
Catching Up

Yesterday dawned with just a few long, feathery strokes of clouds brushing the Olympic Mountains and the full moon very bright, still high in the west. By mid-afternoon, I reveled in the sun’s warmth.



At sunset, clouds radiated up and out from behind the Olympics, as though from a single hidden point, like an open Chinese fan, with wisps of visible air currents trailing away from the fan’s edges. I watched the clouds’ colors ripen from palest apricot to vibrant salmon to sweet, regretful rose. Distracted from my vigil momentarily, when I looked again, the sudden blackness physically jarred me.

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This past week, the burning bushes (Euonymus alata) burst into their eponymous blaze. Soon senescence will overtake the dogwoods, cherries, willows, maples as they “do not go gentle into that good night” of dormancy.

Scientifically I know why leaves change color in autumn. But metaphysically, metaphorically, how fascinating that they blaze with such intense life just before relinquishing their hold on this plane of existence to return to the earth. This last wild bohemian fling stirs a deep urge in me to fling my calendar in the trash and do something wildly out of character.
 
Yesterday afternoon, as the sun finally began to burn through a day of gloom, a few Japanese maples startled the breath out of me with their overnight transformation to scarlet, gold and amber. But such a mournful beauty.

When I hear people say that autumn is their favorite season, it strikes me like saying, “I love going to funerals because the flowers are so beautiful.”

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