CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Autumn brings golden silence

“I saw old autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.” — Thomas Hood, Autumn
Autumn is definitely here, no matter what the calendar may say. Ever since summer solstice way back in June the days have gotten shorter. It is only now in the time just preceding and past Labor Day that the distinct changes we associate with a shift from summer to autumn take place.

Early morning and evenings have brought a distinct chill. Leaves have begun to change and drop (and entire trees have dropped if one counts that ancient oak in the canyon a couple of weeks ago.) September 23 and the autumnal equinox are still a couple of weeks away, but I feel all the autumnal changes begin.

The chill of the early morning hours on even the hottest of days has had me pulling the covers up around my ears. Many of these same mornings have held a damp mist as well and I have found myself lingering, daring to turn and finish the dreams before rising. A chatter of birdsong at first light finally pulls me from sleep and my desire to laze longer.

Soon the day’s sounds will begin and I will miss the morning’s “silence” — the bird chatter, the echoing night sounds diminishing, and the far-off sound of the surf will be drowned out by what I can only call “noise.” And before I know it, evening will return the peace anyway.

Twilight is noticeably shorter and the change from day to night more abrupt.

On a recent evening, husband Mike and I sat on the deck simply watching the light change. I was wrapped in a light-weight blanket I had grabbed from the back of a chair to ward off the chill in the air.

As the setting sun shot the soft shades of orange and yellow up through the trees, the activity in the yard seemed to increase exponentially. The copper-colored hummingbird who seems to rule the feeder darted here and there to shoo offending interlopers. Only one relatively large green hummer got a short-lived perch and a sip from the feeder.

The house finches and sparrows and the delightful goldfinches scurried about as a pair of blue jays battled another pair for a share of the peanuts. A single hawk screeched overhead and crows cawed in flight as they headed up-canyon for the night.

Mike and I wondered aloud where the crows would rest…perhaps in the grove of eucalyptus at Top of the World? At the sound of our voices, the mourning doves feeding on seed remains on the ground flew to the trees with noisy, almost clumsy-sounding wings. Red leaves spiraled down to the ground from high in the eucalyptus grandis trees at the edge of the yard.

Long, brown stretches of barked clapped against the smooth trunk of the trees as a light breeze stirred the air. The jerky flight of a bat caught both of our attention at once and we silently pointed in unison.

Autumn is a time of transition perhaps more than at any other season in our town, it seems to me. Festivals end, school begins, and traffic returns to its normally crowded state. And whether it plays out in actuality, words like mellow and silence come to mind when one considers the autumn season.

The explanation here in Laguna Beach may be as simple as children gone off to school and getting the streets back from tourists. But I think it is more. It is something outside of daily activities and beyond the control of us humans. It is something I have no other name for than Nature.

And since we have no control over Ol’ Mother Nature, I for one intend to simply follow the dictates of the season and be mellow and silent myself.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. — John Keats, To Autumn

CHERRIL DOTY is an artist, writer, and creative coach exploring the many mysteries of life in the moment. She can be reached by e-mail at cherril@cherrildoty.com or by phone at (949) 251-3883.