The morning mist hanging eerily on the remote Ontario lake completely shrouds the small pine-covered isle in its midst. As I sip my morning coffee on the cottage verandah, I watch the mist being slowly burned away by the waning October sun, revealing the Ontario fall in all its flaming glory.
Finishing my coffee, I stroll down to the mooring, untie my canoe, climb in and push away from the dock. Gliding past the isle-of-pines to the gentle sound of ripples lapping the pebbled shore, I feel at peace with the world. As I paddle along, the familiar sounds of fall echo in the stillness: A loon's lonesome cry, the ring of an ax, and the faint stutter of a trolling five-horse-motor. Silver birches glint through the flaming red, orange and yellow of the maples and sumac that are splashed all around the lake like the work of a demented painter.
The heady aroma of wood-smoke drifts on the breeze as I round the big jutting rock where a lone fisherman is casting his cares away. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a 30-30 rifle from somewhere deep in the bush sends a choir of crows flapping madly from the trees, creating a cawful din at being disturbed by human intruders.
Then, just as quickly, they return to their tree-tops and lapse into silence once more. I absorb the whole wondrous fall scene as though it is the last chance I'll ever get to do so. Sure, I know, fall will be here again next year, same time, same place. But will I? The summer people have packed their kids, dogs, boats and water skis and departed.
The winter people will arrive soon enough with their skidoos, trucks and ice huts. Spring in this neck of the woods doesn't last long enough to have people to call it their own. So, for the time being, all the glory of an Ontario fall belongs to the lucky people who love this most colorful of the seasons. We the people of the fall have a secret. We know we don't have to die to enter paradise.
When autumn addicts gaze in awe at the blazing splendor all around them, They know exactly what Voltaire meant when he said: "Paradise is where I am."
William Bedford——
Bio and Archives
CFP “Poet in Residence” William Bedford was born in Dublin, Ireland, but has lived in Toronto for most of his life. His poems and articles have been published in many Canadian journals and in some American publications.
