Later in life, realizations
Yesterday I went to Sauvie Island, at the intersection of the Columbia and Willamette Rivers. The marine layer nestled above the landscape until noon, when the sun got warm enough to burn off the clouds, moist and heavy. Fog lifted from the surrounding hills and low mountains. Hundreds of geese were in the flattened field, eating the corn dropped behind by the harvester.
As the sun came out and light and shadows formed, the geese rose as a mighty flock and flew out, heading south. Different squadrons of smaller V’s joined in the flapping of wings. It was a great sight in October, the Canadian geese, and the sound of their wings was a rare treat. Sheep were in their woolly coats, cattle grazed in the distance, and even some goats and llamas watched behind fences.
October light is the sun at a low angle, cutting through the golden-yellow leaves, the maples shading into deep burgundy, the oaks turning to amber. Leaves are falling to the grass and sidewalks, and the sky is a beautiful blue. There is a teasing coolness in the air. The chill will wear off by afternoon, but we know that the warm hours are few.
I wear a flannel shirt and jeans, breaking out the cool-weather clothes. It happens suddenly, the change from hot days to cool, the birds gathering, the harvest in full farm equipment mode.
One year, I drove out to a rural town, a six-month temporary assignment, and watched the seasons. Farmers tilled the soil, and later, corn grew high enough to block sight lines on gravel roads. Trucks occasionally dropped sugar beets as they rumbled toward the sugar beet processing plants. I followed a safe distance behind, slowly, not wanting a sugar beet to hit the car.
October is the full enjoyment of older age, gathering the crops in, crunching the leaves underfoot, enjoying the smells of the day and the sounds of wheels on gravel, wings against the breeze.
We don’t yet have to give up driving, make our world smaller, or use walking aids. We are light in our retirement. Perhaps we shun those with walkers, unconsciously, or read the ‘Do you have Alzheimer’s?’ quiz in the marketing magazines for assisted living. We linger in October.
October Light is colored, shaded, and glowing from above and underneath. It is an analogy for this time, before November’s bleakness and the bare branches ready for the storms.
John Gardner’s book October Light has a title I envy. I don’t remember reading the book, though I know I did, decades ago. Maybe that’s how it is; we know we enjoyed it, passed through, and that’s enough.
Leave a Comment