I’m in the final week of the local autumn observational complaint: You can’t make autumn stay, you can’t show off the season properly. I’m still trying to do it, even though it can’t be done. But I’m still trying.
It seems like there’s a shift in the tint of the golden light from the late sun. It’s still pleasant out, but there’s a feeling in the air. The optimism of crisp morning air is taking on a new meaning with a nearer, sharper crispness in the air. It isn’t a foreboding, but a coming to a sense of reality.
There was a mom and a child playing beneath that tree, while the dad was taking pictures of them. The boy was in his element and having a great time, but the parents were trying to document all that was passing before them. We must deliberately categorize certain things out of doors, in certain lights. The kids will get bigger, the trees will become exposed twigs, the blue sky turns grey. Before you know it, the next family photos feature a slightly older kid. And by the time they take those pictures, things will be green again. Or, covered in snow if their brave. And so they are out right now, setting a memory.
That’s a lot to take from watching a young family for a few seconds, but there’s a certain chill in the breeze.
