In San Francisco, we're sheltered from the seasons. The entire year, it's +/- 10 degrees from the typical 70, and in drought years, there isn't even a "rainy season". Leaves don't change color. It doesn't smell like fall. The air isn't crisp.
The rest of the country, meanwhile, is in the grip of fall.
On my last day in Glacier this September, it was clear fall was in the air. Crisp, cool air was lurking right around the corner. Teasing summer at the frayed ends of her sundress. Trees and brush were beginning to go aflame, putting on one last, brilliant show before they pale at the strength of winter.
On my last day in Glacier, it was hard to say goodbye. I cried. I cried tears and tears driving down the mountain (not a good idea on 100-year-old mountain roads).
I had just rediscovered the land of my happiest childhood memories. Two days earlier. I had just completed my quest and wanted time to savor it. I did not want to leave. I did not want to change my place, where I was. I did not want to turn around so soon.
The pull of "real life", a job, adult responsibilities tugged me back to California. This pull dragged me out onto the long road towards home.
Christine Byl's Dirt Work and Thích Nhất Hạnh's Your True Home were two of my constant companions before, during, and after my trip.
One is a love affair with nature from a traildog. Dirty, grungy, crude, romantic, mesmerizing. The other is a daily treatise from a monk. Peaceful, loving, infuriating, wise; one of the most compassionate teachers I've found. The most unlikely (but secretly most likely) pairing. Together, they soothed me. Salved my wounds.
Fall is a time of dying. It's also a time of brilliance. The color of fall must sustain us through long, cold, dark winters, so fall makes sure her show counts.
However, fall could not keep up this show indefinitely. No one can sustain such brilliance forever, not even she. Her impermanence helps us appreciate her brilliance. Look, quick, here now, gone tomorrow.
My Glacier trip could not have gone on forever. Perhaps someday Montana will be my home, but for now, it is impermanent. It is precisely because my trip was impermanent that I value it so dearly.
I tried to live each Glacier moment deeply and use it in a responsible way.
Perhaps, in my precious few minutes in Glacier, I was as full of purpose as these fall plants.