The growing autumn

I had a beautiful dream this morning, just before I woke up.

The dream’s setting was a spot that my friends and I used to visit when we were in high school. It would usually be three of us–me and two others–but sometimes another would join us, too. We would spend full days up there, climbing trees, talking, playing games. It was a special spot only we knew about.

Years later, one of those friends is now my husband. Just this past week, he and I took a visit to this spot to see if it was still there. While a large quarry has formed nearby, disturbing some of the peace and removing a large part of the path to the spot, the spot itself remained completely in tact. A circle of stones rested perfectly at its entrance, almost undisturbed by time, save for a few fallen branches. A staff from years before was sitting by a tree, the only hint of time being the light moss that had begun to cover it. One of the biggest differences from before was a collection of multicoloured mushrooms that had popped up here and there–some of them were bright orange, though we also found a few black-purple ones.

In this dream, I was alone, walking through the area and gazing up at the trees and sky. For some reason, I could see the sky a little better than I could if I were really there. It was the bright blue of a clear day, with only a few white, fluffy clouds. A large spruce tree heavy with cones towered over me. In my dream, I thought to myself that I should go there alone more often. It was cut short when I woke up, but it lasted long enough to leave me with a pleasant mental image.

Maybe it was the pure blue of the sky, but something made me think of summer. When I woke up, I was met with the jarring darkness that comes from the end of August: the sunrise coming later in the morning–the orange-gold morning light that comes from a waning existence. Seeing light of that colour reminds me of a section of Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead:

GUIL: It’s autumnal.
ROS: (examining the ground) No leaves.
GUIL: Autumnal — nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day… Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it… Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses… deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth — reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

The last days of summer are melting away, but 21 days of September remain before the equinox hits and the summer is considered truly over.  Those 21 days still have a remaining possibility to them, as though there is still so much left to accomplish. Though it’s all but officially over, I’m still not ready to give the summer up. I didn’t always (or, really, ever) like summer as a child, but now that I’m an adult I have grown to really love it. I’m not even sure why. Maybe I just need a good winter hobby to get me through the rougher months.

Do you have any plans while it’s still warm? Maybe you enjoy the fall and winter months and you’re looking forward to the cooler weather. I went canoeing and hiking with the hubby earlier on this week, and I’m hoping we can squeeze in one last full beach visit before.

I also wouldn’t mind having another pretty dream like last night’s, but  I suppose I could do that any time of year.

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