Transitions

The sugar maple out front is bare now, the leaves blanketing the lawn in patchwork red, yellow and orange. Chill mornings, chill evenings, wood smoke wafting across the road every few miles. Pumpkins and Mums have replaced Corn and Rhododendrons at the farm stands, and the school bus regularly thwarts our morning commute. Autumn in New England. Almost winter in New England.

And today a Saturday of wash-out rain and contemplation. It’s the transition season now. Now that the tree is bare, now that morning frost becomes more frequent, now that Halloween is almost gone and Thanksgiving awaits. The pause before the hard facts of winter. Still repose, waiting for the next chapter of the year.

The past few weekends have taken us from the highest point on the Eastern seaboard to the western hills to Rt. 1 from Boston to Portland to home. Fairs and family, grub and grog, spectacular autumn snapshots for posterity. It will take a while for the frames to develop, but I will carry the warm feeling always.

Autumn ending, winter impending. Nothing gold can stay.