The Crispness of Autumn Foliage

27. syysk.

For a couple of days, frost paid a visit. In the mornings, the stalks and golden leaves of the trees were coated in frost, which vanished with the sunrise as if it had never been there. For one day, the leaves, weighed down by the frost, fell from the trees to the ground, waiting for the winter snow to cover them.

Luckily, I had time to enjoy the beautiful golden autumn days by the shore just before the frost bit the leaves off the trees.

The autumn foliage season disappeared quickly. It’s as if time suddenly leapt forward, rushing toward winter. Usually, time here in the midst of nature moves slowly, but now it seems to be hurrying. Or maybe it's me who’s rushing. That could be the case too.

Even though time slips through my fingers like autumn leaves falling before my eyes, I try to take moments in nature just for the sake of being. In those moments, time stands still. It’s as if it softens when it gets a bit of attention. I suppose that’s what we all long for—when we don’t get it, we start to sulk and rush.

Life in the crisp autumn air flows just like in previous years. We wait for the first snow, stack piles of firewood in the shed for winter, and watch the morning calls of swans from the cabin window. It seems that one pair returns year after year to the cabin’s shore to feed and prepare for their journey to warmer places.

The autumn equinox took away the reign of light from the people of the north. Now we’re speeding toward the polar night, and the sun's rays rarely peek through the edges of rain clouds. The nights grow longer week by week, but on the other hand, it has brought the starry sky and northern lights. They’ve already provided joy on numerous evenings. One source of light fades, and the next steps in. It's like nature’s game of musical chairs.