Many times over the years I have looked at the trees dressed in their chromatic finery, lit by an angled sun and enriched by the moody clouds that seem to fill the sky behind them. This contrast is a trademark of the season of Autumn here.
I remember the first time a scene like this really struck me – it was as if I was becoming aware of the essence of Autumn for the first time. I was driving back home for the weekend in my second year of university and the road, now subdivided and walled was, at the time, surrounded by golden yellow-orange fields. Off to the side, not far from home, was an old farmhouse that was collapsing inward. The sun was low in the sky and the house and field were bathed in a golden light with a backdrop of thick dark clouds. It was almost surreal. It was if time stopped and asked me to pay attention. I was so moved that I tried to paint it. I believe I still have that painting somewhere…. It was one of my first real attempts at a painting of any kind and, for me, it seems to prove that we can come full circle when acknowledging the things that strike a spark in us. What’s more, I think I had my first glimpse of how I fit into that cycle.
After a week of firsts and lasts, as well as, ‘first time in a long time’ kinds of events, the season of dying light is truly taking hold. I find myself reflecting again instead of reporting. Some things are not meant to be merely retold or passed on as a sequence of linear events. Meaning can only be found in the collection of feelings left like a residue.
The exploration of wounds and loss can define a period of time. Eventually that journey, too, must end.