Tuesday, October 28, 2008

autumn lane

october 28 2008




There is no harder confrontation with the change of things than death and autumn.
Even though the message of life is wonderfully crowned with the most beautiful colours, it's completely clear that it's time to reflect upon the months that have past and prepare for the darkest part of the year.

Just a few hours of light are shed on the leaves to see them in all their glory, then dusk sets in and the fog veils the known and unknown.
Mysteries have the chance to grasp us, or phantasies have to fill in the blancs that nature leaves for us to perceive.

In the old days the harvest was gathered and what the family didn't need until spring was brought to the needy and the market.
Servants and workers on the land were allowed to go home or find a winterjob before the streets were too slippery and travelling would be dangerous for both man and animal.

The abundance of the harvest was celebrated gratefully, seeds were put to rest and bulbs were put aside to stay safe during the long winter.

In different parts of the world traditions have formed from and around the harvestmarkets.
Girls were promissed to families for the next year.
Heydolls were wrought to thank the gods and to ask them to bring the spirit of life safely across the winter.

Turning away from the past was also believing in the circle of life.
New live will appear after the dark, the light will feed the seeds and bulbs so people can stay alive and witness the change of seasons over and over.

For eras people have trodden the same paths.
Saw trees change colour, saw them grow.

How many times I walked through the large lanes in the wood...I don't know.
But I do know the different looks this place has.

It looked as bright as on the photo when I walked there with my boyfriend many years ago.
We were making plans to get married and we were feeling on top of the world.
The long walks seemed to be endless.

Except for one day when I had new contact lenses.
Ofcourse I knew that it was stupid to wear them in the open field, especially on windy days, but it was like those two little pieces of plastic transformed me into a being I'd never been.
I thought I could conquer the world.
And we did, when we walked the lane in splendid colours, untill we reached the sandy parts on top of the hill.
Suddenly, over the large trail of the trainrails a storm started blowing all the sand right into my eyes.
It was scary.
Even after taking the lenses out my eyes were burning and I didn't dare to try to rub the sand out.
So we walked back as soon as we could and went to a friend's house where I washed my eyes out by holding my head in a bowl of water and opening my eyes.
The sand went out, and I didn't even dare to look in the mirror to see how awful I looked.
That incident cured me from wanting to feel pretty at the expense of my health.

Oh, we didn't marry...but that's another story.
It sure had nothing to do with my looks.

Now memories are starting to cross my mind.

I remember we had to use that lane once when it was night.
Some friends were taking part in an evening bicycle tour.
We were supposed to go diagonally through the wood, following a bussy road.
But one of the bicycles broke down.

At that time cellphones weren't even invented, and we didn't dare to wake people up in that one house we saw.
All we could do was decide to take the straightest way to the living world: through that lane.

During the day the little stones on the path didn't matter at all, but in the night they seemed to be living creatures.
We were sliding over them, trying to keep our balance with the bicycle at our side.

Every sound seemed to be magnified between the tall dark trees that were bending over us, keeping the moonlight too far away.
A sliding stone, a sigh, someone saying something to the person before or behind him.

If someone had seen us move over the path in that night, they must have thought the ghosts were caravaning from the deathworld into a place near the living.

When we finally arrived in the world of the living, the light was hurting our eyes.

Like it was hurting the eyes of that man that bumbed against our car when I was 5.

It was a sunday afternoon.
The lane was open for cars and we were on our way back from a long journey through the woods.
We'd seen many beautiful animals. The large ones from the car, the little ones when we were having a picknick at an open space in the late autumn sun.
Little ants and spiders, getting ready for winter. Even a little mouse, watching at us with beady eyes. Curious like we were.

We were on our way home when a pheasant suddenly crossed the lane and stopped at the side of the read to look at us.
We stopped too, and so both worlds met in a moment of utter amazement, until I heard a strange sound, looked back and saw a car running into us with huge speed.
"Look out!" was all I could utter and just then the front of the car moved into the back of ours, stopping right before the bench I was sitting on.

The face of the man was stuck in the window.

One of us went to a house nearby to warn the ambulance, I stood trembling at the side of the lane, and my parents tried to help the injured man by stopping his bleeds when he fell back in his chair.
His face was lacerated all over.

It took quite a while until the man was freed and put in the ambulance.

People seemed to have forgotten me and at that moment I decided always to see the beauty around me, whatever happened in my life.

I saw the acorns and chestnuts, coloured leaves, while the serious events in life just happened and were solved again.

There, that afternoon, at that autumn lane.



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2 comments:

  1. That was beautifully written! I really enjoyed reading it :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Awesome post, I haven't read such a great post in a while now.
    You made me walk in that lane :)
    Superb!

    ReplyDelete

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