Our Words Can Outlive Us...
Often throughout the year, I think of my friend, Vienna Hagen, who left this world far too soon. She fought an amazing fight with a cancer that was only accidentally discovered and blazed out in wonder, love, and shear crazy glory for the days remaining to her. That woman sure knew how to live in the face of damn near anything.
Always the brave one, Vienna, liked being a trailblazer. So, it is only fitting that she be the first (& possibly last) posthumous guest writer on my blog. Here is something she wrote a few years ago. Still one of my favorite pieces about Fall. Enjoy.
And remember, you never know how what you say or write will come back to haunt somebody...
Fall Happens
by Vienna Hagen
There is a night when fall happens. Neither a function of calendars, nor exactly weather, seasons, like Mary Poppins, arrive when the wind changes. Spring comes in the morning, with the soft scent of damp earth and the glimpse of a green bud. Summer arrives one day at noon, with a dry sky and a single bead of sweat. Winter sneaks up and slides in with the cottony sound that muffles the world right before it snows, but fall happens at night.
One night, after a warm day when it seems that summer is never going to end, autumn dances in. Fall is not a thief, like winter, nor blatant as the summer, instead it is a gypsy, strong and sure. “Come” it says, “see my pretties! I have colors galore, and tastes! I have glowing lights and magical bells! Come and share!”
On the night that fall comes, the breeze shifts, becomes, even if for but a moment, a wind. In the blink of an eye, the air turns crisp and sharp. The lingering dusty warmth of summer is swept away, and leaves, even though still green, suddenly rustle as though they were made of paper, no longer liquid and growing, but all, as if on cue, beginning the countdown to falling in multi-hued mountains for use as the landing zones of childhood, and the funeral pyres of summer vacation.
Apples are just the fruit needed by fall. Strawberries are too soft and sweet, designed for the wedding of spring to summer. Peaches, watermelon, nectarines are all for quenching the thirsty days of July and August, but apples are for fall. Tart skin snaps when you bite into it, like the little slap of cool air on your face on a clear autumn day. Apples are solid, and can stand up to a frosty morning. Apples have character.
The window stood open after a warm, lazy day and it was too much of an effort to close it, so after the sun went down, fall waltzed in. A sudden, almost imagined chill brushed through, and the tree outside creaked a little as though feeling its age. In a subtle instant, it was time to take the blanket down off the shelf where it had lived since the day the forsythia popped open like corn. Lemonade was no longer the thing. Ice cube trays that had been freshly filled might remain so now for months. One lone fly that had gotten in the day before and entertained the cats enormously now, suddenly, disappeared.
Outside, leaves clattered, calling attention to themselves as if knowing that the curtain was about to go up on their final, but most spectacular performance. Insect choruses packed their bags and gave in to the inevitable. Lightening bugs conceded defeat for the year. Air that had been leaden and flat became crystalline and bounced off the tip of the nose. Last night, fall happened.
One night, after a warm day when it seems that summer is never going to end, autumn dances in. Fall is not a thief, like winter, nor blatant as the summer, instead it is a gypsy, strong and sure. “Come” it says, “see my pretties! I have colors galore, and tastes! I have glowing lights and magical bells! Come and share!”
On the night that fall comes, the breeze shifts, becomes, even if for but a moment, a wind. In the blink of an eye, the air turns crisp and sharp. The lingering dusty warmth of summer is swept away, and leaves, even though still green, suddenly rustle as though they were made of paper, no longer liquid and growing, but all, as if on cue, beginning the countdown to falling in multi-hued mountains for use as the landing zones of childhood, and the funeral pyres of summer vacation.
Apples are just the fruit needed by fall. Strawberries are too soft and sweet, designed for the wedding of spring to summer. Peaches, watermelon, nectarines are all for quenching the thirsty days of July and August, but apples are for fall. Tart skin snaps when you bite into it, like the little slap of cool air on your face on a clear autumn day. Apples are solid, and can stand up to a frosty morning. Apples have character.
The window stood open after a warm, lazy day and it was too much of an effort to close it, so after the sun went down, fall waltzed in. A sudden, almost imagined chill brushed through, and the tree outside creaked a little as though feeling its age. In a subtle instant, it was time to take the blanket down off the shelf where it had lived since the day the forsythia popped open like corn. Lemonade was no longer the thing. Ice cube trays that had been freshly filled might remain so now for months. One lone fly that had gotten in the day before and entertained the cats enormously now, suddenly, disappeared.
Outside, leaves clattered, calling attention to themselves as if knowing that the curtain was about to go up on their final, but most spectacular performance. Insect choruses packed their bags and gave in to the inevitable. Lightening bugs conceded defeat for the year. Air that had been leaden and flat became crystalline and bounced off the tip of the nose. Last night, fall happened.
Ah... Vienna. The world is such a poorer place without you, my friend. I can still see you standing buck-naked in your graduation robe. Gotta' love a redhead!
peace,
Janice
