The Autumn That Wasn't

The hurricane came and blew down the trees, caused all the rivers to flood and did something weird to time.

All the disruption brought by the storm caused those of us who experienced it to alter our patterns of behavior. It was necessary to devote much time and industry to essential activities that normally involve little effort or thought, such as securing water and food. The fundamental rhythm of energy was reasserted as we began shutting ourselves down once the sun set and the light went out. Life became very much a day-to-day proposition and the days all seemed the same. Time went sideways for a while.

Hurricane Helene arrived here at the very end of September, then dominated all aspects of life for the entire month of October, continuing on into the early weeks of November. That six-week span of time corresponds with the end of the growing season and the advent of the changeover period known as autumn. In this part of the world, to be out in the woods in autumn is to know something of the sublime. More than a mere colorful delight for the eyes, there is a spirit in autumn that reaches deep into memory to massage an aching place of melancholy acceptance. Autumn out in nature is like free therapy. I think I could have used a little free therapy over the past six weeks, but I couldn't get out in the woods. I had to stay close to work and all the woods around here were closed. Just like the hurricane messed up the Arboretum's property and forced us to close, it did the same to vast tracts of forest land in this part of Southern Appalachia. The Blue Ridge Parkway and all its property was closed. Pisgah National Forest was closed.

I wasn't able to go walking in the woods this year, but I didn't miss out on autumn altogether. Even as the October page of the calendar faded until it disappeared, I had the sanctuary of the bonsai garden to keep me in touch. It's supposed to work like that. The little trees encapsulate all of greater nature, so by their contemplation we stay connected. Day after day in the garden I watched the process play out, another growing season coming to its glorious, inevitable conclusion. The transformation happened slowly, steadily, just as it always does, a great tide of change moving inexorably across the landscape.

Now is the end of what was.

Winter awaits.

Somewhere out there is the promise of another spring.