by Darla Isackson (Posted on Meridian in 2002)
We drove the Alpine Loop last week. In the lower elevations shades of green still dominate. But after we took the 7-mile cutoff to Cascade Springs, we turned a corner and suddenly an entire landscape blazed breath-taking red.
I love autumn, and it has come to symbolize repentance to me. One long-ago fall I had two experiences that led me to write a poem called Autumn Awakening. First, I was sitting in silence by a picnic table up Millcreek Canyon watching golden leaves fall from quaking aspen. I had always assumed that the wind blew the leaves off the trees. That day there was not a sign of a breeze, yet one by one the leaves simply let go and fluttered to the ground. A few days later we had an early, heavy, wet snow that broke many leaf-filled branches in our valley. Subsequently I wrote:
My golden maple groans, bowed down by sudden snow;
Caught unaware, boughs break, fall to the ground below.
My winter maple’s limbs, up-reaching, not bowed down,
Wear snow’s adversities as nobly as a crown. Continue reading