The inventory of middle autumn at the end of October is rich in foliage and color, but the settling in of late autumn draws down the density and texture of the canopy and it strips away almost all the floral barriers to winter.
In the same way that spring overcomes February and March with an accumulation of new growth, so fall spreads across the summer with an accumulation of loss.
One enumeration of late fall is the counting of what no longer holds, a counting of emptiness, cued only by memory and the more durable, woody scaffolding that binds the seasons:
The great loss of leaves opens the sky. Foliage of apple trees, ginkgoes, maples, redbuds, black walnuts, catalpas, box elders, locusts, elms, birches, poplars, cottonwoods, oaks , sycamores, mulberries, sweet gumsand magnolias... the foliage of all these trees is either down or collapsing.
The leaves of shrubs, and the innumerable wildflowers are missing, too.
The mornings are so silent: no more robins chattering, no cardinal song, no dove song, no red-winged blackbird song. In the day: no cicada song. At night: no katydid song, no cricket song.
Still, all of those absences can and often do remain inside us
as presences, almost tangible in our reliving of the great gifts of the year.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with more notes on the seasons. In the meantime, look harder. You'll find your way through the cold ahead.
