The personality change of the sun

Something I like about this time of year is the personality change the sun undergoes.

Through July and August, it had the character of a domineering supervisor–someone whose gaze you would rather avoid, even if you weren’t misbehaving or breaking some kind of rule. It would glare harshly, leaving us happier when it couldn’t see us.

 

When it could, we felt its heat. Returning to my car after it had been parked in the sun, I resented having to open my doors or windows just to let the heat out and make it bearable to get inside. My air conditioner never seemed to engage quickly enough.

 

I was academically capable of reminding myself that winter is also a season and that I should be grateful for the sunshine and warmth, but it wasn’t only “warmth,” it was “heat,” so I appreciated the green and the growth and the grace of the season, but not always the sun that made it possible.

 

Now the story changes. I find it much easier to welcome and greet the “kindler, gentler” sunshine. Rather than having an impulse to avoid it, I feel drawn to places where it washes over me.

 

Perhaps what I am most grateful for, though, is the sun on autumn leaves; it is an appreciation on many levels.

 

First, there is the individual leaf which calls out for my attention as it flutters like a landing butterfly and comes to rest in a small patch of sunshine. It doesn’t much matter what it lands on–gravel, dry grass, or even mud do not detract from its color, shape and glow. This small blessing happens in winter, too, when a long-held stem lets go and a brightly colored symmetry comes to rest on white snow.

 

Resting where it’s fallen, it calls attention to how beautifully shaped it’s always been, but was too anonymous to appreciate all summer long.

 

The next level of recognition is the sunlit branch still holding a bouquet of leaves the size of an easy chair. The rest of a tree might be bare branches, but the wind and sun turn the colors of this remaining vestige into a panoply sufficient to itself. The shadows shift and new outlines appear. Colors become more and less vivid. I find myself speculating about questions of fate and luck–what has kept this collection in place while the rest of the tree has emptied itself?

 

Even more breathtaking, of course, is a whole tree shining with color. Like a giant, brightly dressed lady, the tree seems to be granting an audience to the nearby countryside. In a light breeze, it almost seems she is raising her arms in greeting. 

 

Then there are hillsides of color.

 

Trees of yellow, orange, red and brown stand shoulder to shoulder like brightly dressed spectators at an all-encompassing celebration. Whether walking, riding or driving, a person is tempted to come to a stop and breathe in admiration at every turn. Autumn days are simply not long enough to take in all the beauty.