By Tim King

Special to the Sentry

   The overall theme of this time of year is that of things coming to an end. 

   Many plants, even the hardy mums, have succumbed to the colder temperatures and the shrinking sunshine. The grass is becoming dormant while the last of the fall crops are being harvested. On every tree, leaves, at the end of their lives, are falling with each gust of wind. 

   For many, autumn marks the end of the season and spring represents the beginning. I’ve always thought this way too, but lately I’m starting to see things a little differently.

   It started one day last week when I was taking my youngest son to school. We were stopped alongside the road, waiting for our beloved crossing guard to bravely step out into traffic for us and bring the passing motorists to a stop.

    As I looked down the road at the column of stopped traffic, I noticed a white, cone shaped something jutting out into the distant horizon. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. I was more focused on getting my son to school before the long blast from a whistle signaled that it was time to start the school day.

   When I was walking back home, I stopped at the same spot and noticed the clouded something had held the same shape and location against a brilliant blue sky. 

    As I was trying to get a better look, the aforementioned crossing guard informed me that it was no cloud at all. In fact, I learned that it couldn’t be a something any more different than a cloud – it was the massive, snowy peak of Mount Washington. “What? Really?”

    I must admit that I was very skeptical at first. I mean, we’re on the coast of Maine!

    So my next step was to do some initial research with an old map and then online at the Google Earth Web site. Drawing an imaginary line between here and North Conway, N.H., I determined that it was at least feasible. After all, standing more than 6,200 feet above sea level, Mount Washington is the highest point in New England. So it would make sense that it would also be one of the most widely viewable points as well.

    I just never imagined that it would be possible from here. After all, it’s in entirely different state and we are nowhere near the border. If we were located in the western part of the state, that’s one thing. But here, on the coast? Surely, there must be something between here and there standing in the way? Well, for most of the year, there is. 

    They are called leaves.

   However, thanks to the recent days and nights of strong winds, almost all of the trees in my neighborhood are now bare. Yes, even the stubborn oaks. 

   With the privacy of our leave filled boundaries gone, we are able to place ourselves as part of a larger community – all of our neighbors’ houses are clearly viewable to us once again. Similarly, our house, and to an extent our activities, are open for all to see as well. As a result, I’d like to add to the old adage that along with good fences, a good set of blinds or shades make for ‘good neighbors’ too.

   Suddenly, everything about the landscape had changed. On a recent walk through a neighboring wood, there now appeared many (once hidden) burrows in the ground, nests in trees, streams and other habitats, real and imaginary, in plain sight. Each of these things had been hidden to me just a few short weeks ago as green growth enveloped each place with a veil of secrecy. 

   But by this time in the year, most of the leaves have withered and died and have been stripped away from their petioles. What we are left with is their sturdy skeletons to stand firm and alone until it’s time to grow anew. However, this is not a time for sadness. 

    To be sure, today, like every day, is the beginning of a new chapter in our lives – there’s just no telling how long the book is going to be.

    So rather than mourning the loss of the beautiful colors of fall, the earthy smells of freshly cut grass and the satisfaction of seeing my garden grow and mature over the course of the spring and summer, I now choose to celebrate the clarity that comes with this time of year.

    For those who chose to stay outside to enjoy it, late autumn provides many clear and crisp, (not to mention bug-free and crowd less) unobstructed views of our surroundings.

    Yesterday, at a place where I had traveled hundreds of times before, I found a mountain where the day before there was none. Tomorrow, if the conditions are just right, it might be there again. Then again, it might not be. That’s why I’m grateful to have taken the time to look when I did. 

   Tim King is a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough. He can be contacted at sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com