Listopad

As the days began to shorten and the sun's emergence from the grey clouds grew rarer and rarer, our Czech professors gravely apologized for the loss of summer and winter's quick approach. Although most CHP students (myself included) attend colleges in the North East, the somber predictions of foggy skies and frigid winds struck a nerve and I braced myself to expect the worst. I anticipated returning from October Break spent in the warmer, southern cities of Italy to sub-freezing temperatures, a colorless sky, and rain, sleet, snow or other variation of an inclimate down-pouring. Instead, I was welcomed home to a vibrant and beautiful city. Fall is Prague's season. Leaves burnt orange-red and sky paled, the city looks as it was meant to be seen. Cast in richer and deeper colors, the natural landscape of the city showcases the true mood of the urban. Medieval old town and its tightly packed maze of streets seems more authentic, yet more magical. More than ever before, Prague is alive with its own unique history and culture. It seems as though there is something darker, mysterious, and somber essential to Prague's character than cannot be grasped in summer's heat or spring's fresh hope. Even winter's silent chill I expect will fail to communicate the precise tone of the city. Its the ephemerality of the autumn that captures Prague's character. Nature lights aglow with flames for a single brief (and all the more beautiful) moment only to then writher on its branches as days pass and cool. Like fall, Prague is defined by these moments of transition. Tossed around by foreign regimes throughout its history, Prague has been forced to adapt, to change. However, it is in its transformations (however obligatory) you can see the true character and beauty of Prague.

While even from the heart of the city center you can feel the change autumn has ushered in, I found myself itching to escape the urban and spend a few hours amidst a more natural landscape. Although only about twenty minutes outside the city by metro, Kunraticky Les feels removed and isolated from the bustle and mechanical construction of the city. At the request of a friend, I visited the forested park on an afternoon in early November. The Czech word for the month, listopad (leaf=list, padat=to fall), never seemed more appropriate; a light wind blew through the many trees, picking up their brightly colored leaves so that they fluttered down to the earthen path as a premonition of snow coming.

 That Sunday was particularly lovely for such a late fall day, and the trails were busy with families and their over-bundled children and rambunctious dogs. The forest seemed to stretch for miles around steep hills and still ponds. Everywhere the leaves were golden, scarlet, and mixed shades of green and orange.

Perhaps because the only other natural Czech landscape I've explored is Letna (which in its construction as park may not in fact be considered "natural"), but I was shocked at how gorgeous Kunraticky Les was. Here it seemed Prague was in its true, untainted form. Alive in the height of its season, the Czech Republic never appeared quite so attractive and, well, comfortable. Returning into the city as the sun dimmed behind heavy clouds and set for the evening, I felt a new affection for Prague. Maybe I have been here long enough to become accustomed to the culture or perhaps I just needed to wait to watch the city change seasons, but Prague feels a little bit more like home now.