As each Appalachian Mountain Country season nears its end, there is an intermingling of signs of the one going and the next one coming. The transition is never sudden and in mid-October there are some late Summer-like days and early Winter-like days mixed with cool Autumn days, rain and flaming foliage.
Weeping willows are drooping with dry tear lashes. Canadian geese honk their way South in the high sky overhead. Fields of goldenrod wane into the burnished afterglow of their intense yellow brilliance of two weeks ago.
It is a time when milkweed pods have turned from moist perch-fish green to
dry rock-bass brown. At this moment the pods are opening and the angel-hair seeds are
riding on the wind in their flight toward new life.
Occasional falling leaves flutter across our vision in teardrop pink, joyful orange, flippant yellow, jaunty green and fringed-trimmed brown.
At mid-day when the sun is bright and warm, a haziness hovers over the flaming foliage. There are moments when the pigment creeps into the air above the treetops and infuses the haze to give it a pretty, multi-colored aura. The haze is washed away by a quickly passing rain and the aura becomes a florescent glow emanating off the trees.
The day is near its end and a broad band of sky along the horizon opens up to allow the fast setting sun to shine through. The sun’s bright rays reflect off the clean wet leaves with most brilliant red, orange, and yellow. Reflections are so intense it seems like each leaf has its own power to shine. The entire underground comes to light and life with previous gem-glow.
The sun disappears below the western side of the world but twilight does not come. The world, instead, becomes brighter from the glowing iridescence that covers the surface of the ridges and slopes and valleys.
The sun did not set today; it transcended. There is a feeling we will not see it again until after this year’s leaf fall when the leaves on the floor of the forest turn brown with age and return their pigments back into the heavens; back to tomorrow morning’s bright new sun, rainbows, and next Spring’s new life growth.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published October 12, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.