Thursday, September 29, 2005
OCTOBER SHOWCASES PERFECTION
Sometimes, even a poet can miss the mark.
How did he say it?
"Then if ever come perfect days," I believe it was.
But the poet was referring to springtime.
My choice would be the flip side, when autumn tides are enhanced. That would be October.
To borrow from The Eagles, October has always been when "some fine things have been laid upon my table."
For example, from a bed at University Hospital in Charlottesville I first saw the Blue Ridge Mountains in October 1954. They were capped with an early snow. I thought it the prettiest sight this Scott County boy had ever seen. Thought I’d like to live in those mountains some day. And live there I do.
Driving down I-81 in the vicinity of Wytheville recently, a coyote bounded down the interstate embankment, crossed the first lane of southbound traffic, then came to a screeching halt in the hammer lane, where I was passing somebody at about 75 mph.
A good set of ABS brakes applied in a panic stop is all that saved my grille from destruction and the coyote from becoming sausage. He took the time to look at me through the windshield – he was now only 20 feet or so away – then seemed to say: "Oops. They must have built an interstate since I was through here last."
My belief is that, had it not been almost October, I would not have been able to watch an elusive coyote – and a well-fed one at that – just a few feet in front of me.
What I did not do is jump out of the car, scramble around to the trunk and uncase the scoped .22-caliber Magnum that I bought just for coyotes. Chalk it up to the magnanimous and "perfect days" frame of reference that October brings to the outdoors.
Sassy the Wonder Dog and I took a walk this morning along the North Fork of the Holston River. The Holston flows some 50 yards past the front porch of my home place. Today, the river is October clear, October shallow. It is almost surely the most beautiful it has been all year.
This time of year, yellow walnut leaves and brown sycamore leaves slowly mingle on their trip downstream. Blue skies and white clouds are reflected in the river’s surface.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to slide my Pungo fishing kayak through some of the low-water riffles below Weber City or not. But I intend to try. From Mother’s porch, I can see some nice smallmouth bass working the rock ledges. And just after dawn, I watched half a dozen half-grown river otters frolic and chase each other into and out of the river alongside the bank.
You can do these things in October, now that summer has loosed its sweaty grip on the land.
For all I know, disagreeing with a poet could bring bad luck.
But not, I think, until November when all that is unique and precious will have moved on as the first taste of winter bears down.
END
Sometimes, even a poet can miss the mark.
How did he say it?
"Then if ever come perfect days," I believe it was.
But the poet was referring to springtime.
My choice would be the flip side, when autumn tides are enhanced. That would be October.
To borrow from The Eagles, October has always been when "some fine things have been laid upon my table."
For example, from a bed at University Hospital in Charlottesville I first saw the Blue Ridge Mountains in October 1954. They were capped with an early snow. I thought it the prettiest sight this Scott County boy had ever seen. Thought I’d like to live in those mountains some day. And live there I do.
Driving down I-81 in the vicinity of Wytheville recently, a coyote bounded down the interstate embankment, crossed the first lane of southbound traffic, then came to a screeching halt in the hammer lane, where I was passing somebody at about 75 mph.
A good set of ABS brakes applied in a panic stop is all that saved my grille from destruction and the coyote from becoming sausage. He took the time to look at me through the windshield – he was now only 20 feet or so away – then seemed to say: "Oops. They must have built an interstate since I was through here last."
My belief is that, had it not been almost October, I would not have been able to watch an elusive coyote – and a well-fed one at that – just a few feet in front of me.
What I did not do is jump out of the car, scramble around to the trunk and uncase the scoped .22-caliber Magnum that I bought just for coyotes. Chalk it up to the magnanimous and "perfect days" frame of reference that October brings to the outdoors.
Sassy the Wonder Dog and I took a walk this morning along the North Fork of the Holston River. The Holston flows some 50 yards past the front porch of my home place. Today, the river is October clear, October shallow. It is almost surely the most beautiful it has been all year.
This time of year, yellow walnut leaves and brown sycamore leaves slowly mingle on their trip downstream. Blue skies and white clouds are reflected in the river’s surface.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to slide my Pungo fishing kayak through some of the low-water riffles below Weber City or not. But I intend to try. From Mother’s porch, I can see some nice smallmouth bass working the rock ledges. And just after dawn, I watched half a dozen half-grown river otters frolic and chase each other into and out of the river alongside the bank.
You can do these things in October, now that summer has loosed its sweaty grip on the land.
For all I know, disagreeing with a poet could bring bad luck.
But not, I think, until November when all that is unique and precious will have moved on as the first taste of winter bears down.
END
