I find a queer sort of joy in those imperceptible things. The subtle changes. Whisper in the ghost or, that, felt down in the marrow. The realization of how it's different now.
According to my records, the average lows are now in the forties. Think swing bands and those classic black and white moving picture shows. There is ravenousness amongst the hummingbirds and mosquitoes. Last hurrahs before migration or the death-sleep. The other day, coming back Guanella Pass way from a road trip, along the western side of Mount Bierstaidt's massif, there was a thin dusting of snow. I have read in Alaska, such phenomena is known as termination frost; when you see snow on the high peaks, it means summer's coming to an end.
A photographer of my acquaintance and I trekked Watrous Gulch. So queer to have two-legged company with me on a Tuesday that's not blood related. The wildflowers are starting to fade, but not the serenity of the landscape. There are no ugly or bad times up here. Just the morphing between the seasons. I noticed the a few leaves starting to fade. In a few weeks, the leaf-peepers will be up, looking for a muti-colored thrill.
Later that night/early unto morning, with said photographer in tow, Sabina, and I went to Pass Lake to watch stars fall from the sky. The shrapnel from a previous supermoon gave the illumination of monochromatic daylight across the ridges. We wore fleece, and I wore a skullcap. It was surprisingly warm upon the tundra that late at night/early unto the morning. The few plummeting cosmic jewels we saw were worth drive up. Peter Gabriel's Passion was our jam, and it was in perfect context.
Of course, I could argue, it was the stars, and when isn't the celestial worth it?
Humidity, Colorado monsoon storms, whilst hopping up over for errand adventures. I wore jeans for a walk to the post. Jeans, or, other long pants, after dark are becoming a little more frequent these days. So it goes. It's the shadow of the season. I still wear sandals. Shorts, when I can, until late September, early October because I fucking say so.
Summer grows old and autumn is coming. Imperceptible birth-cries and death-rattles. The way of things. My birthday is in a few weeks and we might be hut tripping it. Something to do.
Life is good, but when ain't it?
And I thought we'd talked about this....I guess one learns who their friends actually are, eh? You went and said, or mentioned it....at an angle, yes, indirectly, sure....but you implied it. Snow. You went and said it.
ReplyDeleteFine, I can take it. I have some pics somewhere from my time up there in Alaska of termination dust, that's what they call it up there. It's part of the way of measuring seasons up there, similar to the local knowledge that when fireweed blossoms get to the top of the stem winter is 6 weeks away.
As I speak we're having a soaking rain for 3 hours now, it's great. I'm looking suspiciously for signs of being 'thick'....
Yo, you said the snow word first in our correspondences/comments this season, docksy, it wasn't the other way around ;p. It was rainy yesterday and supposed to be today, then a dry out. We might actually hit the seventies. Dog days of August.
Deleteyeah, fine. But don't call me Shirley.
DeleteWe had another soaking rain last night, and high today was 74. Got a decent brown on the Big Hole yesterday, a hen, female around 26", splashed water in my face as I eased her back into the current.
I love the time of year when autumn is approaching, though we're nowhere near the lows being in the forties here. They're getting into the lower sixties though.
ReplyDeleteLover sixties are sometimes the daytime highs here. Oh, the difference altitude makes ;).
DeleteAll too soon the bedroom window will still be open -- but there will be no fan in it...
ReplyDeletePearl
I used to wish for a fan in my bedroom window. That was many years and four-thousand vertical feet ago.
DeleteBorn and raised in Alaska and I've never heard of terminal whatever--maybe the mainlanders needed a name--but on Kodiak Island when the first dusting came, no words necessary. Dad would start winterizing the house and vehicles, and Mom would start winterizing the kids.
ReplyDeleteWe're starting to see wood piles getting ready here. The first omens.
DeleteAll this talk about Alaska is making me future-home-sick. (That's a thing. I just invented it.) Of course, what I really want is solitude, and I'm not so sure I'd get it, even in Alaska.
ReplyDeleteColorado seems nice, but it's the melty months that try to kill me every time--sooo many allergies. I wish I could enjoy it the way you and Sabina do.
My allergies don't bother me up here, the way the do/did when below a minimum of seven-thousand five-hundred feet. A friend of mine says the environment I'm in seems to suit me.
DeleteIt'd be cool-ha!;p-if you made it to Alaska again. Certainly, the stories would be interesting. Of course, you'd probably be the envy of Terlee.