Have you ever been so caught up in the business of life that you forget about the beauty of life? I find myself in "go" mode all too often; I have a schedule to keep, laundry to do, reports to type, house to clean, kids to run here and there, etc. I know the old adage, stop and smell the roses, but I never seem to take it to heart or apply it.
Autumn is my favorite time of year, mostly because I love that the colder weather is on its way and the heat and humidity of summer will be all but a memory. The landscape will turn every shade of - well - really the upper portion of the rainbow! I pondered this thought on my way to get the children from school today as I drove down the back country roads here in Massachusetts. Most of the roads that I travel don't even have a yellow line to follow; it looks more like a long-winding driveway. Cars on either side of the road give each other the courtesy of "moving over" so both vehicles can fit at one time. The road to school is winding and sloping with some breathtaking overlooks, farms, valleys and hills, all lined with every kind of tree - oak, maple, dogwood, pine, birch, pear and on and on. The leaves are now bursting with the first portion of the rainbow. You know, ROY G. BIV - red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. I see the brilliant reds aflame against the tall pines, orange and yellows line the winding country road. The familiar New England rock walls - home for many a furry animal like the squirrel and chipmunk frame the road's edge; even the pine trees seem to be jealous of the brilliance of the other trees and their needles turn a pale yellow as if to say, "I can be beautiful too and I am capable of changing as well." It's a great mantra, don't you think? As I wind around and try to pay attention to the road ahead I am showered with a cascade of yellow and red leaves raining down from above, the wind whipping up and scattering them afar. It's almost breathtaking. I can even picture the scene painted in a white winter wonderland - the contrast of the white of snow against the green of the tall pines.
It's almost as if I am suddenly awakened from some sort of slumber; like I am finally reaching the plateau and can take a breath and look out at my surroundings and be content. I see now why there are so many great poets and writers who originate from New England. The beauty alone is enough to stir even the numbest of minds. I am now reading "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau, published in 1854. Thoreau was born in Concord, here in Massachusetts and his book Walden was written describing Thoreau's experiences over the course of two years when he left for a cabin, which he built near Walden Pond, out amongst the woods and I am sure rocky landscape and owned by his friend and confidant Ralph Waldo Emerson. Though I haven't reached the end yet, a quote for which I know well and written towards the conclusion of the book says this, "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." 'Tis true' say the Irish. My last blog talked about being ourselves and not allowing ourselves to get caught up in what everyone else expects us to be or expects us to do or say. We all DO march to the beat of a different drummer. We don't always need to march in parade formation - we have the option of marching our own half-time show. Okay, okay, I was in the high school marching band for four years, what do you want?
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