This autumn in northern Europe is unseasonably gentle and warm. The turning of the leaves from deep green to all the colors of flame and sunset, the baring of elegant dark, sloping branches, the abundant soft coverings on the ground, the scents of damp earth, fallen apples and acorns, crumbling organic growth. All these magnificent changes are occurring in ultra-slow motion. To be savored like a fine wine, a glass of rosé held up to the world, the honeyed drops clinging to the tongue, the luscious perfume lingering.
Stay. Stay out a little bit longer. Won’t you stay, dear summer, a little while longer?
Maybe this is a thin golden lining to global warming, though I hope it is not the case. I see it as a blessing, a small measure of calm, a much-needed respite. We could all use some gentle tranquility in a world inclined towards the severe. One look at the news and everything is at once dim, grim and dire.
But the earth seems to say, not yet. Not yet. It’s not over yet. There’s still time. Time to shift gears, change course, recuperate, look for a new perspective. We’ll always want more, more time, especially when we never fully appreciate what we have. Our human history seems to want to turn that hard curve to repeat itself.
But before we try, as we should, to reverse that relentless gravitation towards the icy, bitter slope of populism, hate and brutality, let’s appreciate how far we’ve come. How much we’ve grown personally and as a whole. How abundant, how beautiful, how dazzling and immeasurably wonderful the world is when we love.
Text and pictures by M.P. Baecker