My sister was born September 26 at the beginning of Autumn, just as the leaves were beginning to turn colors in anticipation of a vibrant season. She was the beauty of autumn. Her eyes, a brilliant clear blue, the color of the sky kissed and soothed by chill winds hinting of winter's arrival. Her thick, dark hair was shot through with many strands of honey gold, rich red, and rust.
She went home to heaven a month after her 15th birthday, when autumn was in full glorious array. For a long time I believed she took all the beauty of autumn, my favorite season, with her. One day I realized I could smile again when the trees put on their party dresses, in her colors, that swished about in the breeze, dancing like they were belles of the ball. I realized I could laugh while wrapped in a thick cozy sweater sitting by a campfire with friends. And I could feel her again, feel her love in the soft wind floating colored leaves down from a sky the color of her eyes. I had not completely lost her or the beauty of the season.
The other day while thinking about her upcoming birthday I went through a box of her things. Folded in an envelope tucked under her sketchpads, I found poems and short stories she had written and spent a lovely time rereading them. Here is one written the year before she died.
Happy birthday sis, love you always.
AUTUMN'S APPEARANCE
You are in a trance; all sounds are distant and unreal. Paralysis has overtaken your body and focused your eyes in a stare. But your mind is alert, it takes note of the things occuring around you. Then it is over. Your body once again is free to move. Your eyes look around and observe objects, but you are not as aware of them as you were.
Has a sudden rush of great beauty affected you this way before? If so, then you'll know what I mean. Did you ever stop and really look at autumn? What is it like? Take a walk through the woods and discover a few things.
The leafy branches resemble a rainbow as they meet in an arc above your head. The leaves form many-colored patterns as they flutter about. Red, green, orange, yellow, and brown combine to form intricate designs.
You notice that underneath the leaves, the ground is becoming bare. As you use your toe to lift a few leaves at the base of a tree, a squirrel chatters to you from the top branches. You know that this is where he has chosen to store his food supply for the coming winter.
Then you glance up and dusk is falling. Various sounds of the night reach your ears and you begin to think about returning home. On your way to a warm house, you try to remember all you have seen and heard. But to recapture such a thing is close to impossible and you just can't seem to accomplish it. When you finally realize this fact, you insist to yourself you'll be back.
But in your busy little world, there just doesn't seem to be any time. By the time you do return, the beauty of autumn has passed.
Tish Hancock Age 14