Fall Brings About Pause, Reflection

Sunrise casts a pinkish hue on the window in the chimney.

I like to watch for the arrival of fall from upstairs, from the window in the chimney.

A single leaf turns red in a tree in the front yard around the first of September. In a couple of months the tree is seemingly on fire, ablaze in red, spectacular against a crisp, blue October sky.

Even though I’m watching the tree turn redder every day, it’s a gradual, almost imperceptible thing. Daily I can see that more individual leaves have turned and that overall the tree is casting redder. Yet sometimes all I can see is the totality of the change. Although I’ve seen the tree — consciously observed the tree — change every day, I’m still amazed when it presents itself as a whole, as something more than the sum of its parts.

It’s the way I look back on my life — while not beautiful, all the bad decisions, all the times I hurt other people because of my decisions and/or behavior, that all stands out like the red leaves. Sometimes those things — the red leaves — are all I can see and I wonder how anyone could ever stand to be around me.

Then sometimes, like I do the tree, I see my life at once, everything in its totality and it’s not so bad. There’s plenty to be embarrassed about but there’s also plenty of things I did right. The blending of it all is where the truth lies. Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth. Or something like that.

Now, with October closing in, I sit in one of my favorite places ever — Cumberland Mountain State Park, the state park, or simply the park.

I’ve come here to enjoy the cooler temperatures of a beautiful fall day and to soak in some autumnal color. But like the tree in my front yard, that change is slow coming. Individual leaves have just begun their transition; those that have finished now struggle to burst through the verdant veneer.

But I’m not disappointed — as I sit in the park, a fog of memories washes over me. The park is prominent in different stages of my life. As a small child, going to the park was special because it meant something special was going on there. A family reunion at one of the picnic shelters; a function of some kind in the recreation hall; or maybe my parents were taking us swimming, in the lake, in the roped-off area above the dam.

As I grew older, still a child but more independent, in the summertime my friends and I would ride our bikes to the park. Sometimes we’d have someone drop us off in the park where we’d spend the day or the afternoon or whatever. The park was a window to the world outside of Crossville — it was a popular vacation spot even back in the 1960s and 70s. My friends and I were ever hopeful of meeting people (girls). Sometimes we even did, in spite of ourselves.

As a teen, the park was an alternate place to cruise, generally on Sunday afternoon and especially if there wasn’t much happening in town.

Some of the best summer jobs for teenagers were at the park. Lifeguard was a premium gig. I worked at the camp store the summer after I graduated from high school. The camp store was part of the park’s campground and carried snacks and minimal provisions but also served as the registration point for campers. It was a good summer.

I’m back upstairs now, looking out the window at the tree, trying to judge how much redder it’s turned since yesterday. It seems like a lot has happened since but I can’t be sure. I’m not seeing the individual leaves today.

I’m seeing the whole tree.