The Messenger of Fall
Sarah Howard Ade
For many years during the days of early September, from the banks of the Bon Secour River, I would detect the first signs of a waning Summer bowing its way to Fall. It was this time of year when the desiccated, thirsty surroundings would silently slip past that first September weekend, and if one was not aware of this time, one would find themselves well into the new season, and therefore unaware of Summer becoming so far removed.
While growing up in Alabama, the changing of August into September often meant spending the Labor Day weekend on the Alabama coast. As a child, this time of year offered one last caper with Summer, one long weekend of early dawn rising, so as to spend the fullest of days on the water. As a young adult, yet still personified by the carefree spirit of youth, it would mean the merging of a Summer of romanticism into an invigorating anticipation of the college year ahead. It was not to long ago though, upon returning to the Alabama coast, that I was taken by surprise with this inversion of season, for it quietly crept upon me, and spoke to my unawareness.
Bon Secour River was showing the consequences of a typically hot, humid coastal summer. As I pushed open the splintered screen door of the bleached cabin, I paused to inhale the bayou smell of the muddy river banks. My head afferently filled with a sense of the steaming, sultry shoreline. Closing my eyes I paused to embrace this feel and smell of late summer. As the screen door's slamming echoed across the water, I wandered towards the river's edge.
My mind began rushing with quick recollections of the June and July days it then began stumbling over responsibilities and the routines ahead of me. As I was mentally outlining the task that lay ahead, a fortuitous different breeze touched my beaded brow causing me to stop, and for the moment, take note of this mystical transition of season.
The Gulf breeze that turned my face to the tree tops was blowing with a new intention and sensitiveness. As the breeze matured into a September song, I observed how differently it moved the trees. With a growing confidence the wind took control of the leaves. It had become the "Messenger of Fall." I could sense its pride as it no longer blew only to peacefully rock and cool the day, or to simply dance among the summer waves. I could see it singing in sporadic phrases, beckoning me to hear its stanzas, while offering a foreshadow of songs to come.
I noticed that the sky was displaying a deeper graduation of blue. The yellowed clouds were meandering out to sea as if being tormented away by September's orange sunset, or by October's first frost. The wind, now whipping here and there, made ripples on the water. The river's abysmal and mossy green body mirrored the flight of a lone winged crane. My eyes moved with Bon Secour's quiet motion. The tide was changing, as was the season.
With the river strong beckoning I quickly untied the nearby fishing boat. Following the tide's retreat from the river into the neighboring Bay, I anxiously guided my wooden, weathered vessel around each familiar turn. At the point where Bon Secour Bay meets Oyster Bay, I set anchor and settled back to watch the harmonious and beautiful movement of the Alabama Coast.
The gray waves on the Bay were developing into misty white caps. The curious seagulls dipped and glided behind a churning shrimp boat. The shore's slender marshes rhythmically bowed in the wind, while the salt and pepper sandy shallows disappeared, then reappeared with the rushing and receding of the waves. The heavy salt air felt warm again my face. It was good to be here encircled by my favorite summer spot so deep in Alabama.
While gazing out across Bon Secour Bay, I began to entertain the melancholies of Summer's decline and the reflective mood of September. It seems September can be a teasing friend, granting you a glimpse into the past, then challenging you to follow her as she glides around the future's bend. She will share with you just enough of a memory to bring a smile, then she will remind you of the day ahead, just enough to make you mellow. She will let you wander through moods and feelings of days, times, and ages gone by. Then unexpectedly her enchanting wind will blow a soft chill against your cheek directing you back into the present.
The startling squeak of a lonely seagull caused me to awake from my collective thoughts. Noticing the descending rays of the golden sun, I began to pilot the boat homeward. As my craft glided inland there remained with me a lingering desidevation of youth and a pensive personality created by the season's transition. The "Messenger of Fall" blew cool against my back, yet I remained warm from thoughts of Bon Secour's drifting clouds in summer.