I feel like I write about autumn an awful lot. Just about every year actually. Autumn is different here than it is where I grew up.For one there are more trees, and those trees have leaves, not needles.
In Colorado, you can see weather, and just about everything else, coming. The wide open sky makes it easy to watch things moving, and the mountains may slow it down, but when things come over them, you can see it. Storms slowly eat the mountains, and roll over them down into the city. It is fascinating to watch. Those days are rare though, the ever present sun asserts its dominance over the clouds most of the time. It is beautiful, and open. There is a lack of mystery. Plenty of awe and stunning vistas, but not a lot is hidden.
Here in the Pacific Northwest it seems more like the sky is closing in. Dark, rainy autumn nights are possible the darkest I have ever seen. It truly feels like a falling here. The clouds fall over the city, not to be dislodged for months. The rain falls, the leaves fall. There is a weight to the arriving of Autumn. Once you have lived here a few years you understand why. It means that the months of gray have arrived. Activities move inside, lights turn on early in the day. Hibernation makes sense to me here. Here there is a distinctly mysterious feel to the change into fall. You can’t see everything, and you know it.
I enjoy the mystery. It is new still to feel like there is something out there that I can’t see coming. That there is more to discover. That when autumn falls, there is something to peer around corners for.