Autumnal Fire

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The winter lockdown had extended so long that it stole the blooming spring, and then it stole the joys of summer, but now with the maples turning to their blazing orange I was free. As a society we had come close to losing our minds from the forced isolation. Some pessimists still claim it is a flash in the pan, that the iron bars will swing shut again. It is not an idle thought. The killer still lurks out there and our leaders continue to fear it, right or wrong.

For me though, I wanted to make the most of the opportunity before the bars swung. If they did, then I’d have a taste to cling to as the winter months closed in again. If not, then I’d have a head start on those waiting for certainty. Either way, the desire of the new and of connection is nigh inexorable.

Not that my time in isolation hasn’t been productive. To the contrary, a bachelor in his home can only be idle for so long before things need to get done, before his thoughts turn to creating and growing. With nothing open for society to do after I got off from work, I let more of the old Renaissance or perhaps Victorian mentality slip through, that of the lone man in his study, left to the devices of his mind and how to bring that which he conjures into the world.

Some nights I would sit by the canvas and paint the landscapes that formed in my mind. The sun rising over fog covered hills, a sailing ship cruising in front of the rising moon, a snow capped mountain towing over the trees. The first pieces I attempted were frustrating to be sure, as the paint refused to cooperate with my imagination. As more time was spent with the brush, the paint grew more familiar and flowed as I desired, beginning to draw out the worlds that my mind loved to explore. Though in truth I would never claim equality with any of the old masters. It would require many years to even approach those I idolize.

Twice I tried to paint figures, bringing people I pictured into being, but those pieces are best kept in private as I learn proper proportions. Again, the diligence of practice will eventually lead me to where such art could become worthy of public eyes. At least, in my estimation of what is worthy for public consumption.

The same story dwelled in my foray into music; early frustrations that gave way to some form of competence. Admittedly this was a late and oft neglected addition to my routine, and so little can be claimed from it.

Other nights were spent laying back in my chair with a book, a cup of tea or a mug of cocoa resting on the end table. My personal library had exploded in the intervening months of seclusion, fueled by the simplicity of ‘adding to cart’. I learned the art of power, wrestled with the doctrines of Spurgeon, marveled at the life of Rockefeller, sailed the Barbary Coast with the Sea Hawk, flew to far away galaxies, and journeyed alongside the myths of olden days. I revisited old haunts that I had almost forgotten, and found new favorites that I must tell others about; the tales from Tolkien’s realm of Faerie, the exploration in Steele’s Coyote, the classic tale of Dune, and the great plays of Shakespear.

Long also did I explore the wisdom of the past. To satisfy my love of the intricacies of war I learned of those whose actions led to the Great War, delved perhaps further into the complexities of the Thirty Years War, and jumped furthest back to the time of the Diodachi’s wars. Plato explained how his ideal republic would be run, Cicero tried in vain to save his republic, and the Stoics instructed on how to model life. My education was finished with explorations into Jung psychology and the works of C. S. Lewis.

I also added my own stories to the collection as the summer days waned, taking part in writing contests and even publishing for the first time. It was a small book, barely more than fifty pages, but an accomplishment to build on nonetheless. Worlds of my own creation were entering the public sphere; worlds that others may also take interest in.

But now my isolation has ended. As the world opened up, I planned to venture far and wide. The mountains of Montana, the coasts of Oregon, and the deserts of Arizona were all given their dates and purchases. Far flung expeditions to Europe were discussed with friends that would hold such interest, visiting the sites of old battlefields and the homes of famous foods and landmarks. Japan built a to-scale model of a beloved mecha and I mapped out the journey required to reach it.

This is the world I’ve been waiting to return to. Books, music, painting; all of it reminds us and inspires us about the wonders of our planet. Though I can see pictures and videos of the great locales, those cannot convey the place in its entirety. The smell of the mighty sea or the mystical forest, the feeling of the wind in your hair or the cold snow on your cheeks, the taste of the cuisine passed down from ancient times. Even the farthest flung galaxies or the wildest fantasy realms are built on truths learned from that which lay outside our doors.

This may only be a moment, but it is one that must be taken. Though I sojourn alone in many places as I tease out new experiences for those I’ll bring along later, the journey is best when shared.

Sometimes it is a group of friends separated since college who reunite through common interest in an event.

Other times its reconnecting with the family we’ve missed that have moved to the far corners of the land.

Still others, and some may argue to them being the best, are shared with the strangers who become fast friends as we explore wonders unexpected.

Sometimes even love is found on such endeavors.

And so I sojourn while I can, and pray for the day when we can sojourn unimpeded. Let this autumnal fire ignite the passion that will bring us all together once the day finally comes and the long winter has subsided.