Fall

The leaves are changing here in Boone. They started the inevitable process about 10 das ago, and it is quite a sight, really. There are so many trees here it is ridiculous, but it is nice because it reminds me of The Valley. But these trees are different. Not as many Doug Firs – if any – and no aspens (like Bend). There are conifers and some pines, and lots of leafy ones that create what looks like a painter’s palate on a mountainside. They are woven into the mountainside as God knew exactly what He was doing when they were planted or grew or however they got there.

I am looking at this huge hill right now, and there has got to be at least 20 different colored trees on it. There are 4 shades of red, 3 yellows, a few oranges, and lots of greens. No pink or blue or black, thank goodness. Fall has a distinct color to it I feel like. I wouldn't call it pastels, but it is something like that. Of course, pastels don’t greens I don’t think. But that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I feel like looking at this hill is reminding me of something familiar, and making me feel connected somehow. Maybe it is because I am used to the leaves changing so vividly every year. Or maybe it is because I expect it, and if it didn’t happen then I wouldn’t feel like I belong where I am. I would feel out of place and not myself.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t really like San Diego. The leaves didn’t change, and there was no fall. Or winter, or spring, for that matter. It was all the same all the time. And I felt trapped in this strange serenity. Some people love that and will never leave. But not in Bend, or Boone, or Salem. Things change and change is good. Changes stirs up something in people, for better or worse. It seems like attitudes change and mindsets shift or something, but something happens when the leaves change. And I like it.