Diana's Various and Sundry Essays

The Chill of Autumn

There is a surreal quality that autumn lends the world, and it is especially pronounced in cottage country. Even a short respite there is a tremendous relief from the everyday ugliness of life at home.

The full impact of being out of the city doesn’t hit you until the car slows in the driveway and stops, its engine dying away in the silence, and you step wearily out of its confining but toasty warm interior. After driving for several hours, you are so bored and tired that even the thought of unloading your provisions from the car and hauling them into the small but comfortable cottage seems terrible beyond words. But after a few mouthfuls of the cool, clean air, your exhaustion beings to melt away. Before long you start to look around appreciatively, taking in the lovely scenery.

The trees lining the gray, rocky shore and receding into mysterious infinity are beginning to change from their assorted shades of green into a myriad of different hues. Crimson, sepia, bright gold, russet and evergreen are splashed randomly over the canvas of the woods.

The water is losing its warm olive tint and has begun its transformation into the cool gray that mirrors the autumn sky to perfection. The sun, creating no warmth at all, hides behind the muted clouds. It gives off just enough pale gray light to let the water reflect the dark, shadowy shapes of the trees.

There are a few birds singing sporadically, and the chilly breezes carry their shrill music out over the glossy, calm lake. A small canoe glides silently by, its occupants equally enthralled with the tranquil twilight.

Glop! An unseen fish a few feet away from the smooth wooden dock consumes a tiny water bug in one gulp. As the invisible sun makes its way down into the treetops, more and more of the phantom inhabitants of the weedy lake come out for their evening meal.

As darkness sets in and the biting wind picks up, beating and thrashing the icy water into small wavelets, you notice the stars begin to appear, one after the other as the winds slowly push the thick, heavy clouds away to some other unlucky place.

You realize at once that autumn is one of God’s finest masterpieces.



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