Misty glimpses of autumn: Trees show off, bursting with color and pride. Leaves cling to branches until they lose their grip and drop to the ground where they form mosh pits in gutters and wait to be swept up.
Hoodies, jackets, flannel shirts and felt hats emerge. People wrap up and hunker down. Some gather in churches and schools for sustenance and heaping plates of spaghetti.
Buttery light melts as people watch the sun and season disappear. Crisp sounds echo from teams in uniform counting off and preparing for battle.
Autumn is also about aging and nostalgia. Family memories ripen. We mature and become more aware that time is growing short.
Harvest was the original name for the fall season until autumn displaced it in the 16th century. At the Harvest Festival, a neighborhood event held in a small enclave on NE 42nd, I ask folks about autumn.
(Debra): “Autumn makes me think of the excitement of going back to school, getting new clothes and notebooks and pens for my kids. I grew up on a farm so I remember growing pumpkins in our huge garden. But it also brings back sad memories of losing important people in my life – several family members have died in early November. Makes me think of cemeteries and leaves falling off trees.”
(Michael): “To me it’s a time of renewal, reaching potential. It’s when things happen. It’s like the inspiration and work you put in in Spring can now be harvested.”
(Tyler): “Cold weather, warm times.”
BUS 75: HIDDEN PORTLAND 