Sunday, November 13, 2005

Fall Things

Fall Window Garden
Window Garden; time to start feeding the birds

Leaves have fallen but there is still a copper glow in the morning and evening light on the trees. Shadows slant across the fields, moving like arrows with the swift rising and setting of the sun. Here the leaves tumble across the yard and disappear, scattered with the wind. I walked through my cousin's yard, where the crisp brown leaves pooled by her front door. I couldn't resist kicking through the thickest pile to scatter them with a satisfying tumble and crunch.

The pines around my neighbor's house stand tall and dark against the pale blue sky, their reflection in the pond broken by the ripples caused by the wind. The grass is short in the field, brown and green and gold with little hummocks missed by the machines tossing in the breezes. Round hay bales cast heavy shadows most of the day, scattered across the field like the old hay stacks my grandmother used to help build.

Settling in with the fall, I spin and think about dyeing, fall colors tumbling through my head. It would be wonderful to be able to capture the subtle glow of the sun as it shifts and changes through these short fall days. For me it's changing gears and slowing down, although the town has been busy this weekend. The unusually warmer weather has kept people on the road longer than usual as they visit the mountains and admire the changing season.

I worked at the antique store yesterday. It's just outside our little village. Friday they opened the new by-pass on Route 58; several people stopped by the shop wanting to know where did the community go? Not exactly comforting to someone who depends on tourism for a living. Most of our traffic comes from the Parkway, of course, but I will feel better when they put up signs indicating how to get to Meadows of Dan and to the Parkway by old 58. In some ways this will probably be better; tractor trailers and people that want to rush on through will be off the dangerous narrow road through the community. During tourist season it's nerve-wracking to watch the traffic in town. Still, it's a change and not a very attractive one; I'm not fond of change. We can't see the road from the community very well, but it did affect a couple of large farms and one pretty old home place is now stranded alone on the other side of the four-lane. The old road by the church where Lily and I used to walk frequently has been cut off; it's still accessible from the mill road but not as convenient. Time moves on, though, and I learned long ago that there's not much that can be done about changes. All I can do is try to keep my little part of the world safe; my part keeps getting smaller, though.

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