Remnants

When the weather changes, I feel it in my bones. I’m not sure it’s because my metabolism has always been a bit off by having thyroid disease or if I’m just naturally a cold soul. A slight chill passes through me when I’m outside, especially as the sun makes its escape at days’ end. Despite all this, fall is my favourite season.

Frost has been a sporadic visitor, but recently it lingers on after the morning sun has hit the pavement. I no longer long to walk barefoot in the ocean, which I especially yearned to do this summer. Instead, I crave the warmth of a burning log.  I no longer want to escape to some tropical place but would rather stay cocooned.

The thought of a steaming bowl of soup seemed so distant a few months ago. Now its aroma permeates our kitchen as a pot of my “favorite” simmers on the stove.  I wear socks and sometimes wrap myself up in a fleece blanket with my latest novel pick, a good film, or writing a story.

The landscape is transformed from shades of green into splashes of red, yellow, and orange. As leaves are unleashed onto the pavement and finally dry-out, the crunch underfoot is a reminder of the stark days to come. Before they face their demise as mulch or rest at the curb along with other garden waste, they are a slice of a tapestry. Some are brilliant, their veins flawless, and with a perfect blade. Others have broken stems and are pale, torn, and severed from the frost, the wind, or the autumn rain. And together, perfect or imperfect, the ground is graced with them.

This month has been unusually damp and cold. We’ve been dealt with more than our share of rain. We couldn’t even replicate that muddy adventure from last Thanksgiving in the ravine near us with few days of dry weather in-between the drizzle or downpour. But a trip to pick up our daughter in Bancroft took us to Egan Chutes Provincial Park.

Our short hike took us along a dirt path covered with leaves. A mix of evergreen and deciduous trees flanked the route on both sides. It was easy to navigate it, at first, but it didn’t take long for tree trunks and rocks to protrude from the ground, slowing us down as we plotted a course through them and from other hikers along the way. The elevation changed sharply as well, becoming steep in spots, forcing us to grab a standing branch for balance, especially in places where it narrowed considerably.

But the show stopper was the falls at the end of the trail. From a low buzz that sounded like highway traffic, the sounds of falls grew louder as we moved along. We could see the water rush over large boulders in the river below. The loud crashing sound was actually soothing.  We descended carefully down more rocks to the bottom and took in nature’s peace.

The way back was much easier once we cleared the steep pitches in reverse. We stopped several times to take in the scenery and silence and enjoyed the mirrored reflection of a group of trees on the water. How I love still life!

That short trek was a small retreat in itself. As we take refuge from the bleakness of winter, we remember these simple remnants, treasures, that leave an impression on us.  

What beauty we sometimes miss in the noise of our world.

Copyright (c) 2020 all rights reserved, Jackie Kierulf, writer