Musings & Threads. It's Autumn.
It’s that time of year again, time to bundle up in soft, comfortable clothes, cuddle up next to a warm fire and sleep soundly in the cool night air. We walk briskly, listening to the crunch of fallen leaves while warming our hands in our pockets. Crisp becomes a favorite adjective, a crisp morning or a crisp apple. Our homes fill with aromas of hearty soups and stews, sweet pies, and mulled apple cider. All sorts of foods become pumpkin favored. Children are back in school, the laughter from the playgrounds reverberates through the air as they decide which costumes to wear for Halloween. Steam rises from rivers in the early mornings while lawns glitter with frost. The color palette changes to warm reds, oranges and yellows as the trees put on a show and flower pots sport bushy mounds of brick-red, yellow, orange, and white mums.
I hate it.
I see it as a celebration of dying, culminating with the macabre Halloween holiday, when death is mocked and frightening children is sport.
I would like to say that my dislike of this season is due to the losses that I have experienced lately, but that just isn’t true. I have always disliked fall. The cold weather creates a barrier between me and the outdoors. I must close my windows to warm breezes that usher in the smells and sounds of nature. Now I can now only peer at silent nature through a sterile glass pane. I have to wear a jacket to go outside instead of merely opening the door. My gardens are tired. My feathered friends have departed for warmer climes. The days are shorter. My lawn is unkempt, littered with ugly brown leaves and sticks. My outdoor activities are no longer nurturing blooms and growth, instead I am cleaning up dying debris. Autumn is a harbinger of bitter, cold temperatures and short, dark days of winter.
Last weekend, when a dinner party host welcomed me with a “Happy Autumn” greeting, I made a face. When he asked, I explained how I saw fall as a celebration of death. Whereupon, he greeted the next guests, with “Welcome to the season of death and dying.” I guess I am sort of a buzzkill, aren’t I?