The Fading of a Season

 To whom it may concern,

     It is that time of the year again. With each falling leaf my sentiment grows. As the fall season slowly fades, gasping in its final breaths, the impending winter stands poised, waiting patiently with sharpened fangs. It creeps in slowly, circling ever closer. The knowing summer sun, too weak to put up the fight any longer, lowers its head and submits. I sit, heavy hearted, and watch helplessly. Nature must take it course; there is nothing I can do. 

Panoramic view, climbing near Mt Rushmore

         
     Pictures become sentiments of brighter, warmer days. I reflect back and hope and wonder if the most had been made of my time. Could I have done more? Could I have done better? With each new day the frost grows thicker and serves as a reminder... It wont be long now. I beg and plead and barter for just a little more time; It wont be wasted, I promise...
     I rifle through the catalogue of memories. Like a drowning man desperate for something to grab, I seek out things to reassure me that my time had not been squandered. The more unique the experience, the more value it holds. A memory stands out...I recall hanging 160' above downtown Denver, painting an old dilapidated smokestack to look like a pencil.



















     I smile at the thought, indeed a unique experience, but it does little to console the sadness that still twinges at my heart. The days grow shorter and colder faster and my sense of urgency increases exponentially. Affirmations are left wanting. Give me the cure for what ails me. I roll up my sleeves and dig deeper into the bank of memories.
     I must try something different... Perhaps the solution is to invoke and relive such a memory. By doing this, I could take from the experience what I was too blind to notice before. I conjure up the best idea I can... I must return to the place most sacred and dear to my heart. 

Sawbill Lake B.W.C.A.

   
     It is in the stillness of this place that the sounds of my frantic mind are slowly muffled out. In the unchanging beauty and silence, a calmness slowly washes over and cleanses me. At peace (if even only for a short while), the acceptance of things to come calms my restless soul.





     Then comes a bittersweet revelation... It is only in these moments of realizing the finite nature of life that depth and value are truly added. The changing of the seasons is not just the ending of the known; it is also the beginning of a new unknown. I become steeped in gratefulness. Though too engulfed in the moment at the time, each memory becomes a blessing to have ever experienced at all. Suddenly I am aglow. Like a death-row inmate's final meal, I hardly even have to try to savor each moment.
     I warm my hands by the embers one last time and shed a grateful tear for the memories of a well written chapter. I take a final look around, so in love and so aware, extinguish the flames from fires of old and with one last deep breath, I brace for the cold and accept my fate; further down the river we go.

Where do reflections end and the real begin?

Truly, madly, deeply,

Daniel William Janssen