Turning The Final Page

Thoughts on the Ephemerality of Autumn And Reading

Photo by Lukasz Szmigiel on Unsplash

We are, in I can trust myself to know such things, in the heart of peak leaf season here at the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. As usual, the soft yellows and greens set off the oranges and reds - the dogwoods this year have been stunning! - of the showier trees. Every car ride is a delight for me as tree after tree stuns me with her gorgeous temporary beauty.

This morning, my son and I drove across the reservoir, fog rising from it like the inspiration for a Washington Irving tale, and a solitary fisherman on a kayak stood just off the bridge. “I bet the rowers won’t be out today,” my son said, still shivering in the 38 degree car. He was right.

We drove on across Albemarle County, and a triangle of geese paced us on the road, their almost invisible iridescence lit by the rising sun. Behind them, the tree tops glowed with morning, their roots in shadow for a long few minutes more of chilly air. Every curve of the two-lane road led me to another vista that captured my breath . . . as I passed it by.

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