Seasonal Change as a Vertical File.

It could be because I’ve lived a lot of years. (It’s true, I have.) Or it could be because I’m about to become a grandmother. (Accurate. Also freaky. Also exciting.) It might be because I moved again — away from Albuquerque and the Land of Enchantment back to the North Carolina High Country and the Blue Ridge Mountains that weave their own kind of magic. (Mists kiss ridge tops in the morning.)

But, and here is my point (finally). Anymore, the in-betweenness of seasons changing operates as a vertical file in my memory vault. The crunch of a leaf, and I’m dropped into the back yard of our suburban Columbus, Ohio home and my kiddos are 5, they’re 8, they’re 10 and we’re raking the golden ash leaves and complaining at the wee elm leaves that resist the rake and glancing in the direction of our neighbors whose cottonwood and maples decide to send their leaves to our yard, but just in time we stop ourselves from grumbling because we get to enjoy beautiful trees that make dappled springtime shade, but now the pile is ready and my kiddos, 5, then 8, then 10, run and jump in the fragrant pile, and I bring my camera up to my eye, and, snap, the moment is captured.

Then I’m dropped farther, to the dense woods on our Ohio farm, and I am 13, riding my horse, Hobo, the most stubborn, tough-mouthed Quarter Horse you’d never want to meet, but I love him anyway, even though he had a habit of biting, and once I bit him back on the ear, hard, and that was the end of the biting, and my mother is riding behind us, perched on her sweet mare, Molly B. Lee, and my mother sits like a queen on her English saddle, her reins held low and quiet. We ride along the trail, leaves drifting past us, and the horses’ hooves make a pleasing crackle on dead branches and a delicious rustle through piled-up leaves. Up ahead one leaf is suspended in mid-air, impossibly floating there as if caught in a spell, and we get closer and I see it’s a Beech Tree leaf, and it has parallel venation, I know because I just learned that in school.

The leaf twirls slowly, the sun lights it to a golden glow, and then I see the thin gossamer thread of spider’s silk and it’s as if this marvel has appeared like bait, that I might be caught on this moment of pure wonder.

See what I mean? One crunch of a leaf on a September morning in 2022, and there I go, down, and down, and down.

How about you? What are the change of season triggers that zap your memory and take you other places? If you feel so inclined, please share in the comments.

Wishing you all a lovely weekend. DEAD RINGER Chapter Five drops Monday!