go deep

by Anna Maria Hansen


I sit on the front porch of my house, back nestled against the sun-warmed wooden siding. All around me, autumn light seeps... vibrant and many-hued. The smell, both sweet and tangy; a tiny ripple of wind brushing by. I roll a pencil back and forth between my fingers. I'm trying to catch this moment of time. Pin it down on a piece of paper.

For myself, I am never satisfied with just putting down the facts. I want to make it so others can feel it. I want to give them a single moment in my head. The colors of fall -- we've heard them all a thousand times. Red, orange, yellow. Gold, russet, cranberry. Burgundy, amber, tawny. I'm tired of lists of colors. I'm tired of descriptions of fall.

And yet, I love autumn. I love the way it feels. All bitter and sweet and regretful and beautiful in its brief and glorious passing. It's a scant moment, a flash of weeks that flood by too fast to get a hold of.

Sometimes, capturing certain things is very challenging. Not because it hasn't been done before, but rather, because it has been done so very many times it has become passe. And all at once, writing becomes a bit more work as you analyze the details, look closer that before, see things that are new. Be aware of what has been written before you. Take another look and see it with your eyes. No one else has ever seen autumn through your eyes. Watch. Think. Write.

Go deep, and the cliche can become new.