TO EVERYTHING, TURN
Another series of storms crackled and poured their way through this normally dry desert yesterday. The National Weather Service buzzed my phone with alerts for micro-cells spotted near Monticello and heading north. Our South Mountain saddle seemed to split the gun-metal grey sky though, and send the surge galloping on over to the Colorado border or on a mud march through Canyonlands.
Needless to say, I was under the weather this weekend.
But the sun chased away the early morning fog to unveil a lilliputian sliver of yellow nestled into the folds of first snow in Lackey Basin. Fall has arrived!
Photography has been the new spin on the seasonal pinwheel of how I rate times of the year. Since I was a child, the calendar of months lined themselves up on a square with January through March across the top, April through June down the right side, July through September along the bottom, and October through December back up the left side. The corners of each edge were bent over in my schematic to round-off the jarring turn of events with deep crevasses carved out at various intervals where my psyche would slip through the cracks - the first day of school, my birthday, Christmas. What more can I say, I was a strange child.
The flavors and folds of my internal chronology have softened with time and I find autumn and winter, with their subdued light and temperatures more to my taste than the hustle-bustle spring and searing summer sun I used to thrive on. This turnabout has also sent me up into the higher elevations of southern Utah during leaf season. Aspens and ponderosas in the La Sals, maples and scrub oak in the Abajos. Yum!
As I kaleidoscope the lenses and apertures of my seeing and settle into the uplifting fall and white roof-top winter, I feel born back into the cycle of my own creation.
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