When Walking through a Glowing Green Autumn, Go By the Highest Path Possible, Part 1 (Scriabin, Sergei Golovanov, Theodore Gouvy)

When you are not sure how you feel, but you sense that it will come out beautifully in the end, who you need to listen to is Alexander Scriabin on his gentler side...

I really had to think about last week ... accepting that the journey of 20 years was done and refusing that composers' opportunity because it was good but not right for me revealed a whole bunch of other doors that, by the same criteria, needed to be shut. Some had been open and I had enjoyed what I could of them for years ... but the logic worked its way out.

Back of this, there was a command:

Redeeming the time, for the days are evil.

Not wasting time or even "killing time" ... the extent to which so much of activity on Web 2 ceases when one understands that ... my footprint there is already small, but it could become smaller ... and so it did... and that would leave time for more music enjoyed and more rest ...

Meanwhile, two generations of my students rolled up on me in choir on Sunday ... the multigenerational harmony was amazing ... as I had been told ...

As you walk as you are called, you are seeing as you are going ... and while by discipline you are having to turn down even good things that are not for you, more and more and in due time you shall look upon the things that are, all around you!

Still, it is a strange moment ... like an autumn that seems to be getting greener somehow in San Francisco...

... but Scriabin fits the moment so well... if you are being invited to dance alone in a world you are not sure of yet, again, there is nothing like him...

But this I also had from last week's thoughts:

Remember this morning, Frau Mathews, when the thought of what you left and the disappointment of what and where you cannot join comes to mind and pains your heart -- remember this morning, in how that in walking away from what is not for you, you have walked to what is for you!

I had to choose to focus on that ... and with that clarity I also realized something else: although I'm not sure where I am, I do know where I am going and Who calls me there ... so that I can also know how I am going through this new terrain... taking joy in it, for starters ... like this gorgeous waltz by Sergei Golovanov!

The hottest day of the autumn thus far -- and it will be hard to top it -- found me getting up early and heading west to beat the heat ... I had longed to go to Blue Heron Lake for some weeks but I tend to avoid the summer crowds, and in San Francisco, summer is a bit delayed and extended ... summer weather can persist to late October in some years, and winter can be late-late-autumn going into early-early spring ... but an October early morning is generally going to be well before the crowds, so I headed out and found myself in a golden morning...

The plan was simple: the bus stop is about a half-mile from the lake...

... and I wanted to do about two miles total, so the plan was to get to the lake, walk to and across the second bridge to Strawberry Hill, walk around Strawberry Hill to the first bridge, and then walk the lake shore back to the bus stop -- about two miles in total. Along the way I would enjoy the sights from Prayerbrook Falls flowing under Crossover Bridge toward Lake Isaac--

Now, I knew a few things were different in the park than the last time I had been to the lake ... autumn's colors are slow settling in, but also, well, things were notably green in lots of ways...

... and then I was confronted by a whole sea serpent at Prayerbrook Falls ...

... and since that was the proper time for the portal of imagination to open, the Ghost of Musical Greatness was there for me to back into.

"Well, Frau Mathews," he purred sweetly, "you are not the only artist who lets their imagination run away with them."

I turned around and almost fell into the falls laughing -- he had come as Commendatore, sword drawn, whole suit of costume armor, green patina makeup, and, as ever, even had dyed the inside of his mouth.

"I was told St. George does dragons, not nagas," he purred, "but fair lady could still not be left to face reptilian beast alone, although I think the upset expression is more because who in the world thought it was a good idea to put a sea serpent in a lake that shallow?"

"Totally ruined the illusion that any of these lakes have any depth at all, which is good because you are trying to get me into this one!" I said.

"Oh, absolut nicht, Frau Mathews," he purred, "because you know that I would have to jump in and rescue you, and with the way these costume armor suits soak up water --."

I just sat down on a rock and put up a napkin as a white flag.

"Now, now," he said, "that ought to be done properly."

And he put up his sword and gallantly pulled out and handed me his ethereal handkerchief and stood grinning with satisfaction as I waved and then laughed until I cried!

As I was cleaning my face of my abundant tears of laughter, he went back to costuming and returned -- around 50ish, armor traded for a hiking suit of black trimmed with that glowing copper patina green, with hiking poles to match.

"I am telling you up front, Frau Mathews," he said, "that you are already falling victim to my nefarious scheme of the day."

"Look, you trying to be a villain is an invitation for you to roll yourself off into this thing!" I said.

"And yet here you sit, Frau Mathews, being paced and not even knowing it -- Mwahahahahahahahahaha!"

"Oh, here we go with the sedate octagenerian pacing service again!" I said.

"Not quite as sedate," he said, "for I think we are going to walk out the thought that is beginning to form in your mind."

So, on we went, and again, I received the impression that somehow autumn was getting greener, somehow flowing backwards...

... and also at Blue Heron Lake, where certain trees should be yellow, nothing doing, with the lake not cooperating either...

"I see you have been listening to Scriabin, and the autumn appears to be corresponding," he purred.

"What in the world is going on?" I said. "I mean, it is beautiful, but ... a glowing green autumn?"

"What an interesting situation," he said. "I said to you last week that instead of focusing on what you are missing, remember what you are choosing, and here you are in a situation that you do not completely understand, but is a beautiful rarity that is yours alone in your circle to experience."

"More Scriabin, my dear?" he said as we walked along and I gave up on fully comprehending the scene as we progressed to the second bridge to Strawberry Hill.

"Well, why not?" I said.

Like Scriabin in that period of his musical life, I realized when we crossed the bridge that there was a crossing I was making, and there was a transition for which there was no bridge. There was but one lake, and from the bridge it seemed that the bridge divided it into two worlds, one of which was almost like Blue Heron Lake on any regular day ...

... but that was a trick of the morning light ... reality truly was glowing green...

... and on Strawberry Hill, autumn simply could not get a handle on things ... it too was glowing green ...

![](

In the midst of this, a flash of red caught my eye -- heralds of the summer so slow to depart ...

"They are worth paying attention to, like little flames in the middle of this glowing green," he said. "They are a landmark of sorts -- they stand out for a reason."

His eyes were twinkling in such a way I knew there was matter in it, but at the moment I had thought of the staircase they were beside ... that was the way off Huntington Falls, and thus halfway up Strawberry Hill, that had been blocked in April 2024. I did not intend to go up, and especially not that way, for 18 months was enough time for it to be cleared, and that was a steep path to go up just to have to go back down. I could not see from where we were because it was too steep and too overgrown -- so much green!

So, from there we began toward the first bridge, enjoying the view ...

... and the quiet ... a few people were out, but the cool of the morning was delicious, and there was plenty to share.

At length the boathouse came into sight; one more turn around the hill, and we would be on the path that led to the first bridge and to the lake shore ...

... but since I had chosen the intermediate height path, the presence of another walker had alerted me that there was a slightly higher path still ...

... a slightly better view, perhaps, before descending to the shore.

My companion noted that I passed the descent to the lower path, and his eyes glittered and his face colored up -- he was glad!

"We shall see perhaps a little more by the highest path possible," he said.

"That was my thought too -- it cannot be that much further around anyhow, because Strawberry Hill is not that big," I said.

The glittering of his eyes told me at once that I was wrong, but, some things one learns by going and looking ...

... and going, and going, and looking ...

... and at about this time, seeing the path I thought I would reconnect with far below, I realized I had done the equivalent of wandering into Theodore Gouvy's Requiem for the first time and hearing the Offertorium. It starts out beautifully, and then snatches me up into heights I didn't even know were possible. Next to the Beethoven Opus 109 and 111 variations, and the ascents in Bruckner's D minor mass Kyrie in which you can hear the mercy asked for coming immediately back down, this is the piece most likely to snatch the breath from my body someday, because it is stunningly beautiful and just keeps finding ways to go up ...

... and still more up...

... here, few of the crowds would come ... it was long and rougher and had no glamour of the falls ...

"For you see, Frau Mathews, when I said to you in the spring of 2024 at this very lake, 'There is no bridge,' I did not mean that there were not any bridges in existence. There are plenty of bridges, and plenty of people to use them ... there is one, right there!"

With shock I looked down and realized just how high up we were, while I was thinking this path would connect with the lower bridge -- no!

I had looked up and seen a tree fallen down from here from that bridge -- I had never even guessed there was a path above that, because I had never seen anyone walking up there! And yet!

My companion embraced me, his eyes shining, his voice ringing with joy.

"There are bridges plenty, Frau Mathews ... but they are not for those who will walk by the highest path possible! Long have I waited to get you up here to show you that -- a glowing green autumn day is more than I could have dreamed possible, but such days and such walks are for those who choose them -- and here you are, meine liebe Dame!

He had been pacing himself, not just me, for he was overjoyed.

*"Komm höher, meine liebe Dame -- come higher!"

So onward we went, still higher ...

... and at last, we came to a place to see a sight that perhaps once in a glowing green autumn one might see ... diamonds sparkling on a pool of jade far distant...

... and I looked down and found a great necklace of fine jade and set with many sparkling diamonds around my neck ... my companion was playing fairy godfather for a moment in his joy, for he could pull from any scene into costuming, and he remembered all the beautiful things he had seen in the mortal years of his opera career.

"Just for a moment, Frau Mathews," he said. "I know you would never dream of purchasing an item like this, but I am broadening your imagination of how you can be loved."

I looked back at the strange yet beautiful waters.

"To think that the One Who has called me loved me enough to call me to have time to be here and see this ... it is more than enough."

"Now you see it, Frau Mathews -- not from the view of what you have been taken away from and what you have lost, but in seeing this whole day, and the life you are living, as a gift to you. From the highest path possible, you can have the right perspective!"

We stayed there a little while -- not yet as high as we would go, for the path had by no means yet topped out, but...

"This is a good place to refresh ourselves, Frau Mathews," he said. "I know you have brought water, but ..."

"Vielen Dank," I said, and sat down and enjoyed my food and the surroundings ... a white cabbage butterfly also was enjoying a meal on some pale heliotropes ...

My companion sat down and drank in the beauty of the day, well-satisfied as he glanced periodically at me eating and relaxing. But afterward his expression became just a touch stern.

"I know that in non-fiction terms, you did all we have done and are going to do in a single morning," he said, "but with me you are never going to just back into walking about four miles."

"You are a faithful octogenarian pacing service, I must say."

"Never ever -- niemals," he said. "Garantiert nie."

"Oh my, we have a guarantee coming out -- and was that a B flat 1?" I said.

"And you still don't take it seriously enough," he said. "I have had the thought before and your grand old soldier uttered it to you in a different way, walking around this same park: you do need to take more care, Frau Mathews. You presume upon your great strength, and indeed you are resilient, just cleared in July from anemia, and here we are -- but I am going to show you how to stage this in the future, so you do not take any chance of over-exertion. I was a patient man while mortal, and I have all the time in eternity now, Frau Mathews: you are going to get this lesson completely learned too, because we will split these posts into two weeks as we need to!"

"There were a few last autumn, actually, that were split -- and the winter before that," I said.

"I am glad that you are well enough again, for you were not in the winter of 2025," he said with a smile. "I want you to stay well, and so I will do what I can.

"Specific to today, however, and we will pick up the thought next week: yes, Frau Mathews, your life has entered realms as strange and beautiful to consider as a glowing green autumn when gold and red hues should predominate. Those hues are what the world expects ... but there is so much more to life than what the world expects, and by taking the highest and holiest path possible, you will see and then arrive at places that even you will not expect ... and, next week, we shall also see that by the same means, arriving where you do expect can be an entirely different journey with different blessings along the way that others who take the path the crowd expects will never see."

He paused, and then smiled.

"Is not the Benedictus of Gouvy's Requiem utterly lovely in its simplicity?"

"The only way he could have done better is by making it a bass solo," I said, "but it is lovely the way it is."

The ethereal basso profondo laughed gently.

"Tenors are a blessing too, and Gerald Garino surely is," he said. "As we sit here in this beautiful blessed moment in a glowing green autumn until next week in real-world time, suppose we end this post here with that Benedictus in all its beauty?"

"I think that is a wonderful idea," I said.