Contented

February 26, 2008

"When my autumn comes I wonder--will I feel as I feel now, glutted with happy memories, content to let them lie like nuts, stored up against the coming cold? Squirrels will always gather--so I'm told--more than they will ever need; and so have I.

Will the dry, bitter smell of autumn, the glory of the dying leaves, the last brave rose against the wall, fill me with quiet ecstasy as they do now? Will my thoughts turn without regret, from blackened borders, leafless trees, to the warm comforts that a winter brings--of hearth fires, books and inner things--and find them nicer yet?" --Ruth Bell Graham

Autumn is my favorite time of year. But then again, I say something similar with the change of each season every year. In Australia where I live it is nearly March, which is the equivalent of September back in my other home, Washington state. But I find that the change from summer to fall feels about the same, oddly enough.

This morning I woke at 4 a.m., saw my husband off to work, and settled in at the computer by 5 a.m. The fire in the woodstove blazed away taking the chill off the pre-dawn, eucalyptus-scented air. A cup of coffee steamed and scented its place on my desk. I find as I write this early in the morning my mind meanders to days gone by. I don't feel that old, but I am. And I have a lot of memories tucked away in this heart. In autumn, with pearly grey fog forming thick and wet with the wakening morning, those memories dance behind my eyes like wispy spirits begging me to come and play. Reminisce awhile.

As the day deepens and warms with the bright southern sun, heat emanates in the late afternoon off the baking wood of the veranda that surrounds this place, and the scent of it filters into my office mingled with the smell of baked grasses. More memories follow of warm days and chilly nights where the moon chases the sun across the sky as the days shorten.

Here's a memory from a journal entry from October 1998 when my two children and I ventured to Klipsan Beach for the day...

"Fall has definitely arrived, but today it seems to be playing hide-and-seek. The evidence of her presence is in the brilliant colors adorning maples and oaks and other sleepy plants. Coming over the mountain passes this morning the ground was wet from melted frost. But the rest of the day is dressed like summer. The shadows are longer from the low angle of the sun, but it's giving off plenty of heat today. Sitting at the beach, one of my favorite places to be, the sun bakes my face, a warm breeze caresses my bare arms and feet, and fine grains of sand are pushed into ripples across my kite, my shoes, my bookbag.

The cries of seagulls blend with the whisper of the sea today--almost as if there couldn't be one without the other. I watch sandpipers with my nearly teenage daughter today. She chases them and I take a picture of the birds flying low in flashing unison. The birds are cute to watch. Little legs blur in motion then stop, rump in air, dig with needle nose, then do it all again."



On the way home we "listened to Maire Brennan's Celtic music from Ilwaco to Clatskanie; the kids were transfixed and quiet, gazing at the orange streak of light on the horizon above the deep blue sea as the sun edged below the world. City lights began to twinkle in the distance beyond the shadowy hulk of the famous Astoria Bridge. Kimi stared out at the sky naming constellations she's learning in science. Jason sat content in the back and stared out at the passing countryside. I can tell when he's full of thoughts, he sits very still."



Evening is settling in now and the day is putting itself to rest. My memories for the day will do the same. But, along with Ruth Bell Graham, I can turn myself in for the night with a heart glutted with happy moments, content to let them lie like nuts stored up against the coming cold.