Autumn Creek (re-posted)
Originally posted by kathyrene at Autumn Creek
Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz
When my siblings and I were younger we spent a lot of time in the creek that ran just across from us. In the spring, we'd catch tadpoles and bring them home in a pail trying to imagine how they could magically turn into frogs. Mom would always make us return them. The same went for the minnows and turtles we'd catch in summer. Not so the small creek leeches. We'd emerge from the creek delighting in checking each other out to see who had the most on their legs. When we got back to the house, Mom would either run for the salt or assault them with her lit cigarette. In the winter when the creek froze over -- usually just after Christmas -- it was time to plow off the snow to make a skating rink. The best time on the winding creek ice was when a fairly full moon occurred brightening up the ice and the surrounding forest. It was often too short lived as all it took was one instance of freezing rain and the conditions would never be right again for skating, broomball, pick-up hockey or even ice sliding on a piece of cardboard.
But autumn along the creek was a completely different experience. It was sensual. And solitary. It was my favourite time of year down there. The smells, the sounds, the colour... There were no frogs or turtles to capture. But a leaf falling into the water, its edges curled up could float downstream a long time before it would get caught in an eddy or go under joining others to make a colourful underwater tapestry. Like throwing a penny into a fountain you could wish on it. Perhaps because it coincided with a new school year (and I loved school), autumn to me was (and still is) a time of reflection, renewal and transition. Today, I don't live very far from the creek I grew up near. Each autumn it draws me there. And there, if I close my eyes it's like experiencing it for the first time all over again, letting good memories wash over me, fill me, renew me, including me in this weird and wonderful mosaic that is life. Like the passing of seasons, so will we one day and may the beauty and grace of autumn be our example.
Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz
When my siblings and I were younger we spent a lot of time in the creek that ran just across from us. In the spring, we'd catch tadpoles and bring them home in a pail trying to imagine how they could magically turn into frogs. Mom would always make us return them. The same went for the minnows and turtles we'd catch in summer. Not so the small creek leeches. We'd emerge from the creek delighting in checking each other out to see who had the most on their legs. When we got back to the house, Mom would either run for the salt or assault them with her lit cigarette. In the winter when the creek froze over -- usually just after Christmas -- it was time to plow off the snow to make a skating rink. The best time on the winding creek ice was when a fairly full moon occurred brightening up the ice and the surrounding forest. It was often too short lived as all it took was one instance of freezing rain and the conditions would never be right again for skating, broomball, pick-up hockey or even ice sliding on a piece of cardboard.
But autumn along the creek was a completely different experience. It was sensual. And solitary. It was my favourite time of year down there. The smells, the sounds, the colour... There were no frogs or turtles to capture. But a leaf falling into the water, its edges curled up could float downstream a long time before it would get caught in an eddy or go under joining others to make a colourful underwater tapestry. Like throwing a penny into a fountain you could wish on it. Perhaps because it coincided with a new school year (and I loved school), autumn to me was (and still is) a time of reflection, renewal and transition. Today, I don't live very far from the creek I grew up near. Each autumn it draws me there. And there, if I close my eyes it's like experiencing it for the first time all over again, letting good memories wash over me, fill me, renew me, including me in this weird and wonderful mosaic that is life. Like the passing of seasons, so will we one day and may the beauty and grace of autumn be our example.