Fall is a time to slow down, enjoy and not ask ‘What’s next?’

Last year on the way to a ski race I caught some flak from my best friend's husband.

"You two both do that!" he said, exasperated. "We haven't even gotten to the starting line yet, and you're already talking about what we're going to do later."

I'm guilty of getting ahead of myself (my best friend, who I've known for more than half my life, is too). Instead of taking in something as I experience it, even if it's spectacular, my mind races toward what is still possible. I want to know, what's next? What do I have to look forward to?

Fall in Alaska is a reminder to enjoy life as it happens. I'm wondering if that's part of why I love it so much.

Especially these days in Alaska, as climate change pulls the rug out from under us, it's hard to know what any given day will bring. It's hard to predict entire seasonal patterns, such as when the first freeze will come or when we'll see snow.

Alaska's always been known to pull a fast one. When I first arrived here, I was warned about snow in May. But overall the trends are clear, and I can feel it in the day-to-day: we're warming up, and it sounds like this winter will be especially bleak.

So, I try not to think about that. And it's fairly easy with those leaves sparkling yellow outside.

In the fall, I don't struggle to drag myself back from the future. Sure, on any given day I think about what's for dinner, make my shopping lists, invite my people. But when I'm outside, I'm present. I don't steamroll into my normal lists of what we'll do later. I do that thing yoga people always talk about, where I feel calm and notice things around me — the wind, the air, the cool ground. I love it.

Of course it's hard to want to be anywhere else when entire hillsides turn yellow, orange and, closer to the ground, red. Blues, especially the alpine lake blues that have that glacial otherworldly green tinge, contrast beautifully with gold aspens. Even the leaves on the ground radiate light.

The overall effect is sudden, and it completely transforms a familiar landscape. It's like waking up to snow, or like that one day in spring when every tree suddenly pops in Technicolor, blinding green.

But with fall, it's not the green that's here for an entire summer or the snow that is (supposedly) staying through April. All of these colors are gone after a couple of weeks.

For me, the frenzied pace of the summer — which is all about "what's next? What's next? What's next?" — grinds to a more serious and determined focus. Now it's all about making the most of the time I have outside, but instead of pushing farther and higher up, I'm just taking it in.

What a strange and novel concept. I seem to be enjoying my life as it's happening. This season comes with a built-in reminder to enjoy even, and especially, what is fleeting.

Alli Harvey lives in Palmer and plays in Southcentral Alaska.