People are so careless. Cursed with negligence, they are blind to myth and choose to ignore the stories unravelling in their own backyards.
When the seasons untangle themselves, they spin across the sky on a sparkling axis – swift and blithely annual. Astrology gave them the virtues of men and beasts, and astronomy gave them the blueprint for a yearly voyage through an expectant calendar.
Seasons are reflected in tides throttled by the muscular gravity of distant planets. They dissolve into oceans, surrendering their warmth and color to a watery greed. The chemistry of monthly progression weaves an embroidery of change through waves that reach towards the sky, towards the cradle of their strength.
But on earth, the seasons are there for the taking. Winter snow, holiday molecules of divine complexity, powders the face of a pale, chilly beauty. The perfumes of spring coat the blossoming air with pastels and genteel promises. Feline shadows stretch in the sun, sleeping in the golden liqueur of late summer. Autumn colors – cranberry, amber, ginger and cherry – warm the planet in a crochet of harvests and earthly riches.
I was walking home not long ago – feeling the low, bronzed tremor of the oncoming equinox – when I thought I saw the lights of autumn hovering above me. It was as if nature herself had taken the radiance and spice of the third season and held it tightly in her hands, to feel the gold and shadow pierce her ethereal skin. And when she opened her hands again, there was a triangle of light, glowing like a captive sunset. She reached down and hung the light on a tree, where it swung in the dusky breeze.
I watched autumn floating in the air as it waited for the symbols in the sky to speak, for the tides to leap and hide like foxes: for its time to descend onto earth. I watched the illumination burn inside the cathedral glass, filigreed like a Byzantine carpet.
I stood there, uninterrupted. The people, however, stayed in their house – ignoring the microcosm of wonder glowing outside their door. They never looked outside their window. They never ventured into the changing air. They were so foolish.