Autumn

Crisp air, ghostly ground fog, clear, bright, long shadow sun, school bound children, flocks of geese headed south, leaves of yellow, orange, red.  What's the common thread?  They're all signs autumn's on it's way.  Less than three weeks to the equinox, but all the signs are beginning to appear.  We are about to begin the transition to winter, and I'm looking for proof this place has four seasons.

Two months ago in early July, with this year's summer's late start, a fearful thought crept in, "What if this is all there is, a few months of summer, sometimes not even a very good summer, followed by nine months of winter?"  Nine months of winter?  Please say it isn't so.  Upon reflection I can see our spring was wet and cold, summer cloudier than usual, but for the most part dry and sunny.  There was a distinct difference between the two.  Now the signs of autumn are showing themselves.  I'm looking to see if autumn is markedly different from winter in the San Juans.

This idea there are four seasons, each with it's unique rituals, activities, and beauty, has suddenly become very important.  The darkness of winter is, it seems to me, the reason so many people in this place have a connection to either Mexico, Arizona, or Palm Springs.  Practically EVERYONE, not just the wealthy.  Island people are resourceful, and when it comes to escaping oppressive, cold, greyness, creativity abounds.

It's good to learn from the locals.  Here's a recent personal fantasy, soon to appear on a post-it stuck to the bathroom mirror, ready for winter, in case one's power of imagination is chased away by nearly sixteen hours of dark out of every twenty four.  Take the ferry to the mainland, hop on the shuttle bus, and board the closest Amtrak headed south.  Winter weather sometimes delays the train, but eventually they have to get you there.

Lightly packed backpack, for the coach riding senior hobo, the affordable choice.  Call ahead and buy two seats, a frugal traveler's possible alternative to paying for a bed.  Soft pillow, warm blanket, sleep.  As the train travels south, passengers slumber, incubating, waiting to awake to the revitalizing sun, bringing with it jubilation, then ecstasy.  Light, light, light.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  New meaning to the word "fantasy".

Crisp air, ghostly ground fog, clear, bright, long shadow sun, school bound children, flocks of geese, leaves of yellow, orange, red.  What's the common thread?   It's autumn in the San Juans, a chance to look around and observe this place and all it's many facets yet again.  Questing to become another barnacle here.  Knowing that to "cling to the rock", sometimes means prying oneself loose for a bit and traveling south, like the geese, remembering that technically, winter is after all, only three months long.