Autumn and Entropy

VIII The Encounter

Time passed slower now, and I made headway through the waning light and falling leaves, back across the trampled paths that smelled of dog shit and defeat. The breeze was cool and fragrant, carrying with it the rustling notes of the woodland. The sparrows had returned to the area, as it had quieted some in my absence. I observed the little birds as they foraged feasted on the remaining bounty of summer. In and out of the bramble they went, keeping a close watch on me as I made my way along the length of the cornfield. The world was awash in the light that lies between hope and longing; a diminished kind of light that hints of pale and decreasing health, and of bittersweet fading vibrancy.

If I had taken that shot, the masterpiece which I sought for so long, I would not be recounting my saga of dog shit and missed opportunities for the unaware reader. I wouldn't have had the inclination to record, recount and relive each moment and memory of that fine day. A day that I will carry with me always. Instead, there would be a photo posted online, showing a splendid scene of colour and beauty. That photo might get some comments and praise. It would let me be a real photographer for a day, possibly two, before the ordeal was forgotten. The pitfalls and turmoil are the substance that have etched an astonishing October afternoon into the deepest, most sacred regions of my memory. No mere photo destined to be lost alongside the multitudes.

I was there at the zenith, and watched while autumn declined, while the leaves whispered and sang to me. I watched as the season diminished and its beauty faltered and faded. I was with the sparrows and they welcomed me for a time, while they foraged and feasted upon the last bounties of summer. I glimpsed that ethereal Shangri-La across the golden bridge and saw sights there of places in my dreams. At the mercy of nature and in its embrace I found myself, along with all the blessings and curses which accompany it.

Struggle has taught me to persevere. Patience had taught me to love the obstacles, while humility was teaching me to accept all the mishaps encountered on the open road. All of those things are such intrinsic parts of the story of that day, of all days. I was alive at the aphelion of Autumn, in the embrace of the forests and fields. I felt, in a small way, part of the much bigger picture, where rewards are much greater than any photo or physical souvenir. To bring back a token in place of the astonishing beauty of the day would lessen its magnificence and mystique..

I made my way now, not with haste or purpose, but with a content and relaxed gait. I.could sense that the shadowy companion of mine wasn't far behind. It never was. Always at my side, behind me, and just out of reach. It was always present, always with me on excursions into the woods and across the bogs. It kept a watchful eye on my adventures and seized opportunities for mishap and calamity at every corner. Wherever I went, it made sure things never got too serious. It was there influencing the forces that be, that they cause mischief and conjure up the struggle that makes my path an interesting one. That thing on the verge ensures that, above all else, my life will never feel ordinary. Seemingly insignificant and mundane situations become strange examples of coincidence and circumstance. I went out that morning in search of a photo to capture the beauty of fall in the countryside. My boot landed in the same pile of dog shit five times at last count; I looked into the eyes of a bird I had been relentlessly chasing for many years and lost the opportunity three times. I backtracked for equipment four times.

When finally I discovered that perfect location, carefully assembled and composed the shot, lights appeared at the end of a forgotten road that hadn't seen movement in years. That acquaintance, the one that lingers on the verge, ensures I never take myself too seriously. It teaches me, through folly and fault and comedy and incredulous, the ridiculous circumstance that I will be humble and present. The law of entropy determines all things for this humbled novice photographer. The inevitable collapse of order into disorder. Entropy is the force which guides my existence. Where I walk, strange and subtle chaos follows. In my wake, order gives way to disorder. That force follows, with a light step and a mischievous grin, bound as I am to that almighty commandment. Its name is Murphy, and he is my companion. The great sages saw fit to write a law about him, one which I'm sure applies to everyone at some point or another in life.

Together for the first time, we walked along that old road, under golden birch and flaming maple. Immersed in a landscape, warmed by the rich colors of autumn and nourished by the fleeting joy that brings. The leaves drifted on lazy fragrance breezes, carried in from cold water lakes in the west. They descended in a lazy, languishing course toward the burnt umber shadows and tones of the road below them. I felt a slight change in that western current, one I hadn't felt for quite some time. My gaze fell upon a great golden expanse of corn, growing long shadows under that sinking sun, and I noticed a chill in the air. I thought it wise not to dwell on dim premonitions, so I put my back to that horizon and set my sights on the golden road ahead. There was time left, time enough to savour the last rich light and magnificence of the country. For the days were growing shorter, fall in all of its resplendent beauty, was indeed waning and every moment now was precious.

In the twilight of twenty-twenty, I finally made my peace with Murphy. I acknowledged, at long last, his rules and influence. I made peace with many other things as well, big and small. Things I had left far too long. I set my gaze upon uncertainty and misadventure, with a lust for nothing more than the experience itself and the reward that brings. It was truly something I hadn't felt in many years, that sense of adventure and zest for life. I rediscovered it after ages lost and buried under the weight of expectation and long grey years. I felt curious and mischievous wonder, like I had as a boy, standing at the threshold of some unexplored forest.

I took two steps forward, tripped on a shoelace, and staggered like a fool into a muddy rut. My knee came down with a hard thud. Slimy black earth sprayed my boots and pants when I lost my balance and fell into a rut. Painfully, I regained my footing and let out an uncontrollable bellowing laugh. There was a moment, one imperceptibly brief instant, when I heard the faint sound of laughter amongst the rustling and whispering leaves. Murphy was there, as he always had been and always would be, guiding the way through folly and frolic. In that moment, I found comfort in that presence.. As the landscapes burned with the last radiant colours, as the birch and maple leaves drifted across the great tapestry of Autumn, we walked together into the golden light of promise and misadventure. Smelling of dogs&t and mischief, I laughed once more and said, "you know you really are a son of a......"

c.couling