Fall arrived in my part of the world. Purple asters have been harmonizing with singing yellow chamisa (rabbit bush) for a while, as the act before the major performance. And who is the major performer other than the sun? The sun steadily shifts southward in eastern skies during the mornings; it presently strikes the center of my bed instead of its head. Most days I can greet the sun, bathe in its warmth and light before getting out of my warm nest. Yes, the nights are getting cooler, and the sun’s position lower on the horizon tells the trees to make less chlorophyll. I wait for the first frost to kill the summer flowers in my garden, but it hasn’t happened yet. They greet me with their colored heads waving in the breeze every day. I will miss them when the time comes.
Higher in the mountains, I hope the chilly nights and the lower sun are doing their work of creating a colorful painting. Taking a break from harvesting, I set off for a fall hike in a canyon that follows the Rio Santa Barbara near Penasco. Always a favorite hike, but this time I am out to do some leaf peeping. Cool air moves along the canyon walls and over the river. The sun dances across the fast flowing water, light and nimble, shattering any dark thoughts in my mind. I’ve been in a bit of a mood, pondering decline, missing my partner. It’s been fifteen years since he left his body and moved on to fly free. For me, the best place to experience love and connection is in nature. My mind repeats a morning chant with each step up the path, leaving no room for thought. The climb is gradual but steady. My body has energy, and I’m enjoying the movement. The joy in movement feels unreliable these days. This is my day though; I can feel it. The deciduous willows along the water are yellow, and I’m drinking in the golden morning. At the 2-mile mark, I cross the bridge over the river and lean on the railing to let the water’s sound and movement fill me up. My body has warmed up, and it’s time to take off a layer. With no people in sight, I strip to take off my short-sleeved base layer. I want my hoodie to protect me from the sun. I enjoy the sun, yet, following a visit with my dermatologist, I understand my skin shouldn’t experience any more. It’s a riotous feeling to stand half-naked in the woods. I understand why Naked Hiking day tempts hikers to join in. Such a liberating feeling to be skin to air to wind and shade. Today is not it.
I must continue onward, with my body protected, and search for the huge Aspen forests. A large swath of Aspen forest across the creek filling the opposite side of the canyon is visible a mile further. Layered as in a veil painting, the bottom layer of trees have lost their leaves, then a layer of trees shows almost yellow, then green, and higher nature has drawn a golden curtain of Aspen across the whole canyon. This display is what connects me with glory, it might be deity and life’s magic. My mind, empty of thought, just wants to shout “hallelujah!”; I call this transcendence and is the whole reason for seeking the wild and often difficult terrain that offers these moments. A combination of effort, focus and rhythmic breathing produces it. It’s walking meditation in its finest form. Grateful to be alive, I sense love for my beloved. I experience love for the whole of this world.
A feeling of renewal gives me energy, and at the 4-mile mark, I decide to keep going to reach the big meadow other hikers have mentioned and I have never reached. The undulating layers of aspen at all stages of color follow me as I move farther into the now widening canyon. One small meadow after another tempts me, but I keep going until I see the enormous expanse of green, with a clear view of Chimayosos peak. I’ve reached my rest stop and lay against a rock to have lunch. The quiet is thunderous, broken only by an occasional bird’s twit-twit. The world around me is also moving toward rest. A few spare flowers still hold their heads, but most wildflower leaves are brown and lying down on the earth. Sated with food, I close my eyes for a short snooze. Lunch snoozes on the trail are my favorite. The earth holds me, and my mind drifts. Long ago I learned that tree hugging and earth and rock cradling replace the arms of a person. I let the natural world be my partner. Breathing, movement and an occasional hand on my heart give me the oxytocin I need for happiness.
After a few minutes, I wake up to hiking reality. Clouds have obscured the sun, so I will move to get warm. The return hike becomes a reminiscing over color, and how the cloud shadows intensify the deep golden of the fallen leaves. I have more of an eye for detail and notice shapes, a delicately veined leaf, a few phallic-looking mushrooms, a lone bluebell against a log. I saunter and slow my pace on the rocky stretches of the trail. Lower in elevation by the river, ferns fold their fronds into golden brown, a stroke of sunlight giving them one last glorious moment before they shrivel and die. I’m not ready to fold into my demise. I experience my aliveness and am ready to surrender to the changes ahead. Today nature tells me decline can open into another, beautiful world.
Dami Roelse is the author of several books on walking/hiking and transformational travel: “Walking Gone Wild, how to lose your age on the trail” and “Fly Free, a memoir of love, loss and walking the path”. Her next book, “Body and Grace, a hike to wholeness on the PCT, is forthcoming March 2026 from Mantra Books.
The pictures you shared--taken in tandem with those beautiful words--transported me from my living room onto the trail. Thank you. And wishing you a week of ease...
Thanks, Dami. Such a beautiful place to be able to take a hike and experience the fall. I really miss seeing the color changes of the aspen. Glad you are taking that little bit more care of yourself. How exciting that you have a book coming out next year!