Nature's hesitation

We are surrounded by color this time of year in Colorado. Mostly yellows, but some orange and red with enough green hangers-on from summer to make things interesting. People think aspen leaves turn from green to yellow in the fall. Actually, as the sun's angle changes, leaves lose their green color, leaving only the yellow behind. So it’s a case of “becoming” yellow rather than “turning.” I know, that's being picky, but I’d rather think in terms of becoming.

We become a year older. We become smarter (or dumber, if we still have money in the stock market). Children become grownup. We become grandparents or great-grandparents. You get the picture.

I call autumn nature’s hesitation. We go from the warm days of summer to a time of watching and waiting for winter. The leaves become yellow and tell us cold weather is right around the corner. Yet it’s still warm. We walk the hills, basking in the sunlight as though it belonged to us. It would be easy to think this could last forever. Soon, though, winter will be upon us. The leaves will fall, leaving behind bare trunks and naked limbs to face whatever the icy winds will bring.

But winter has charm too. There’s nothing so spectacular as a full moon on new snow. To quote from the poem, such splendor gives the “luster of midday to objects below.” I remember once, several years ago, catching up with a car driving without headlights. Before I could say “Dumb drunk!” I realized the driver was following other cars without their lights on. Then I realized none of us needed lights — the moon reflecting off the snow provided all the illumination we needed!

I too turned my lights off and reflected on the fact that here were several drivers who didn’t have a clue who the others were, yet we were united in silence as we convoyed down the highway together. It was quite a moment.

We’re alive and well, the trees are still beautiful and the mountains haven’t changed in, oh, a million years or so. Life goes on as it always has and so will we in one way or another.