Sitting in the black porch rocker, taking an afternoon break from thinking, planning, doing, I watch yellow birch leaves continue their spiraling dance. A light wind from the East stirs the trees, portending rain and cooler days. Anticipation bubbles within me, like the moments just before the curtain opens on a grand performance, only this is more like a strip tease. Acorns are hitting the ground with popping applause.  After a number of encores, the trees will be bare, revealing a new landscape. I am a newcomer to this stage, first time in this front row seat. The final curtain call will reveal a new horizon.

This well staged drama is a reminder that all life tells the story of change. Carrie Newcomer sings:

Leaves don’t drop they just let go,
And make a place for seeds to grow
Every season brings a change,
A seed is what a tree contains,
To die and live is life’s refrain

Weeks ago when the colors of summer began to fade I was holding onto the scene with a tight grip. “Not yet. Not yet. I am not ready.” All the while I knew change was inevitable. Now I rise to a blessed coolness that takes the edge off the lingering heat, well past the fall equinox. The bite of a honey crisp apple, straight from the tree to me, awakens a taste for Fall. Though I am not fully ready to let go of the peach-sweetness of summer, I begin to imagine the biting tastes of red pepper and cumin in a spicy bowl of chili. The baskets of mums are beckoning and I am once again forced to decide – yellow, gold, purple, or burnt-orange?

I have lived 70 years in a temperate zone and never grown tired of the dramatic production of changing seasons. Nature nurtures an attitude that reminds me to embrace transition – something ever new and eternally the same will be woven together. The curtain will open on a vision that catches the moment between now and then. What has remained hidden from sight can be seen for a time. I am looking forward to the exploring another view. It won’t be the quite same the next time around, and neither will I.