The colors of fall are slowly emerging. I moved up north at the end of winter, watching the land slowly unthaw and bloom into spring. I watched the wide-open lands become covered with delicate wildflowers - balsamroot, lupine, bitterbrush, yarrow, shooting stars, buttercups. Then slowly heat up and dried out with the oppressive heat until only the sagebrush and hardy stock of bitterbrush remained. Then all of a sudden, fall. A crisp chill arrived, and the days began to rapidly evaporate.
I watch as sunset comes sooner and sooner - 9, 8:30, 8, last night it was 7:10. I drove further north for the first time in a few weeks, and the landscape was noticeably moving into fall. The vibrant yellows and a few orange colors were emerging, another season.
That will be four seasons here. It's interesting to know the seasons of a place. A rhythm to remind me nothing's permanent. The awareness made me grateful to greet a new season. It also made me wonder, how do you welcome a new season? Do you have a ritual? Is it like me, just a moment of awareness? Do you have seasonal practices?
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