I stare deep into a puddle full of autumn and feel her gazing back at me.
There she is. Floating just above the cracked pavement. Drawn in glistening sunlight on the surface of fresh-fallen rainwater. At the center of a psychedelic-technicolor landscape vividly alive with the fiery hues of October’s fresh death.
Born a harvest-season baby, she has fall in her blood. Pumpkin spice. Rotting leaves. Hard cider. Halloween chocolate. Woodsmoke on the wind.
Drawn to nature, she shares a kinship with the trees. Mirrors their strength. Echoes their silence. Passes them her wordless truths.
A trick of light occurs and she blends into the scene of her meditation. Ephemeral. Endless. Time stops for a fleeting forever and the metamorphosis completes. She’s become part and parcel of the landscape. An inseparable component of her very own fall-time reflections.
Withering, earthbound leaves surround her. Blown back and forth across the liquid canvas. Ripple in still water. Cold sun warms the puddle; brewing a potent foliage tea. Tannins and blazing earth tones steep in the murky water, fermenting the living imagery dancing across its mirror surface.
I imagine sipping the bitter, gritty brew. Swallowing the autumn.
Savoring the potent liquor as its firewater-burn sears through me, coursing in dendritic tendrils between my body and my soul, scorching my consciousness and beyond.
Eyes closed. Temporarily inebriated on the essence of the season, my mind smiles in tie-dyed, euphoric swirls; as a stark and monochrome Maine winter inevitably continues its steady approach.
