Q uietly, cradled by Hamden woods, is how the West River begins. It slips into Bethany, where it gathers as Lake Bethany, then tiptoes through Woodbridge, as Lakes Watrous and Dawson and Konolds Pond. In New Haven, it pauses as Lily Pond, then lounges, splayed, at Edgewood Park and West River Memorial. Finally, widening gradually like a squiggly herald trumpet, it marches to the ocean, into a little bay named Winter Harbor.
There are senses in which Thanksgiving, too, ends at winter. Symbolically, the holiday marks the end of the fall harvest. Culturally, it’s the last day of autumn that isn’t consumed by Christmas. Coincidentally, it accompanies the final, dimmed blush of the colored leaves that so indelibly define our experience of fall.
Growing as if to highlight the point is a needly vein of trees between Lake Dawson and West Rock Ridge. Surrounded by a browning, graying sea of faded deciduous glory, these evergreens appear as green as ever. Winter is their time, and as far as feeling goes, the balance has all but tipped.
This isn’t a bad thing. It’s just the way of things. But if you’re looking for something more to be thankful for today, charming, fleeting autumn might just be it.
Enjoy the holiday—
—Your friends at Daily Nutmeg—
