Of Autumnal Light

The light softened – or, rather, I noticed that it had softened – as of around 7 or 8 o’clock the evening of August 17th.  As is always tradition (at least in the “whoops, I almost forgot about this but notice every year” sense), I keep my eye out for that point where the harsh light of summer begins to fade into autumnal hours, and only because of a friendly competition between good friends to see who notices the change first. This change, you see, is rather important for artists; the softer light lends itself better to artistry in general, and thus is more desirable for certain types of artistic endeavors than the harsher (some might say colder) light of summer. Most pleasingly, it happened right as I was walking around and taking photos, so it was only appropriate that I heralded this event as I also practiced one of the reasons for why it was a benefit.

This year, though, I elected not to confirm my findings with the friends who share this particular endeavor with me, keeping one eye open for this softening. It was enough to know that I had recognized it, albeit perhaps a bit slower than I might normally notice. It was a bit of a surprise, though, standing out by the waters of Humptulips County; it seemed too early for such a shift, not quite the right time of year, as if it had simply decided it had enough and gave up the ghost of summer before summer was ready to acquiesce. Not a throwing up of the hands in surrender and that sense of “ok, fine, I’m done”, but rather, more of the elongated sigh, the type that you hear out of someone who has well and truly given up but at least isn’t being too much of a jerk about it.

So, yes, it is autumn, at least according to the light.

It is interesting how such an event heightens your ability to notice the other autumn signs: the fallen leaf or two off the tree that hangs over the back porch, the browned pine needles covering the car as you leave from work, the return of the steady drizzles that often grace Humptulips when summer has passed its crown. Yes, autumn is here, if not in name, at least in behavior. Unlike some residents, I look forward to the rains and the cold and the snow to come; the rain because I enjoy the sight and the smell, the cold and the snow because it heralds family. Thanksgiving and Christmas are the two reliable times of the year where I have always been with those closest to me. Some years, I have narrowly made these arrangements due to weather, but so far, it has always happened. I look forward to the hot coffee as we gaze out the window at the cold of December; to the ham and turkey dinners that gather us all around the dining room table, sometimes just the family, and others with close family friends; to the opportunity to catch up, to renew our importance to one another.

While I know that, once Christmas has come and gone, I will pine for the next year’s holidays, I can at least enjoy now: we are not there yet. The first heralds of autumn have only just barely begun to sing, the orchestra tuning in the pit whilst the audience finds its seats.

Lead on, Maestro.

~ C. (Gaius) Charles

Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2013 Stephen EllisSome Rights Reserved