It's a good thing, ain't it?

You'd think that the brilliance of a sugar maple leaf in autumn would shatter all doubts about the quality of the season, right? Just look at this tree! I took this photo about seven years ago on my way home from work. I knew it was close to the end of the leaf-peeping season, so I purposefully took a route that would lead me past this particular beauty. I pulled into the weeds on the side of the road, climbed out of my 2004 Civic, and proceeded to snap some photographs with my ancient Samsung cell phone.

This morning as I drove north of Bangor on Route 15, the sun began its climb above the horizon. I was through Glenburn and into Kenduskeag (that's "ken DUS keg" for you outastaytahs) by the time the big yellow disc broke over the tree line in all its glory. The hayfields on either side of the road were blanketed by wispy fog that fought (and lost) against the warming rays. Myriad trees with green, yellow-green, orange, and occasional red leaves skirted the fields, and the glory of creation could not be denied.

Here it is, mid-September in Eastern Maine, USA, and we've had a week of 80+ degree days as summer rapidly nears its end. I ain't complainin', mind you. We had plenty of chilly, wet weather in the heart of summer, and the longer we keep warm now, the less money I have to spend on heating my house this winter. And there, you see, is the rub. That's where autumn takes us. That's where the sadness, the depression, kicks in.

You see, I praise God for his creation. I find wonder in the changing seasons as he designed them. The beauty is breathtaking. But I do not fully escape the seasonal affective disorder that comes when the green leaves and the leaves fall. The barren trees that linger in my home state drag down my spirits. I love color, and winter has little of it.

It's not just winter's lack of color. It's the delayed arrival of spring's greens. I attended college in the South, and when the calendar said that spring had arrived, creation agreed! Spring semester would end in early May. I would drive home to Maine to discover that nature lagged here. Blooms, blossoms, and greens don't arrive until sometime in April. Until then, all is gray, brown, drab, and dead.

Between winter and spring in Maine, we have mud season. The ground thaws, and before lawns and trees sprout with the fresh look of the new year, rain and late snow turn everything to muck and yuck. The frost and water combine to make the heftiest among us plunge into the earth as if in quicksand, while even the toddlers lose their shoes in the swallowing mush. When the ground finally starts drying out, we have to act quickly to smooth the ruts before they harden into permanent disfigurations that trip us up for the next twelve months. Any snow becomes covered in brown and gray, indistinguishable from dog droppings, and residents despair of spring's physical arrival.

So, here I am, at the turn of the seasons. Lawns are browning, leaves are becoming orange, yellow, and red. Pumpkins and gourds are ripe. Corn mazes have opened for the season, apple orchards are inviting pickers to enjoy their freshness, and the populace is eager for fall festivals, homecoming, and Halloween. I'm trying to enjoy that, but depression and anxiety lurk behind every joy, saying, "Winter is just around the corner."

"Is it a good thing that the changing leaves are so pretty?"