Good-bye, autumn

Winter solstice occurs tomorrow at 4:02 a.m. PST, making today the last day of autumn. Tonight will be the longest night of the year, and tomorrow the shortest day. After that, days will get longer, the sun will be higher in the sky, and my favorite constellation Orion will disappear from the night sky.

It's always a bittersweet time for me. I love the cool, brisk days and nights of this time of year. And the crystal-clear skies. I recall the days of my youth when my neighborhood friends and I slept in sleeping bags in the backyard in winter. I used a borrowed camera to create time exposures of the stars for a junior high school science class. It was then that I learned to love the stars of the winter sky.

Earlier this week, my friend Jean Grant wrote in her blog, "Now that the rain is gone... Where do we go from here? The rain has tucked itself away in the clouds again and the skies gave way today to some gorgeous sunshine." For me it was easy to decide where to go today: outside! I climbed on my mountain bike and headed for Crafton Hills. (Visit my Picasa web album for a few photos.)

As soon as I hit the trail, a rider passed me and said, "Lots of snow up there!" Huh? It's only about 3,500' at the top. There can't be that much snow! To my surprise, as I ascended, I hit more frequent patches of ice and as I heard it crack beneath my tires, I thought of Jean's reflections on the intensity of the seasons she experienced as a child in Illinois: "...that exquisite pain of joy when in spring, the icy puddle begins to crack and the sweet smell of the earth comes back to you after months of deep and bitter rejection of your longing soul."

My soul's longing was fulfilled today. It was a spectacular end-of-fall day. The air was crisp, the sky was deep blue (aided by the sun's lowest angle of the year) and there was nary a cloud in the sky. As I rode along the trail heading east, I saw San Bernardino and San Gorgonio mountains in the distance and recalled the hikes I made to their peaks this summer. The cycle of the seasons -- and of life -- takes its winter turn now and makes those peaks off-limit for people like me. Only the year-round inhabitants dwell there now.

Our seasons may be subtle by Illinois standards, but if you know what to look for, you can appreciate them. True, there will not be much ice skating on the frozen lakes of Pomona, but winter will bring change. I think I'll go outside, say hello to Orion, and languish in it.