As we slide from autumn toward winter, my mind connects with the concept of change. As I accept and assume the mantle of writer and author, it has given me some great insight. I choose to share my thoughts in the event that others, who are seeking and healing, may connect and see they aren’t alone (as I have long felt).
For much of my life, the approach of autumn meant the start of another school year. Because of who I am, that meant lesson planning, research so I could write and/or amend unit plans, planning to teach a course that was new to me, etc. People would always remark that autumn was a lovely time. I didn’t take much notice.
Because I live in the Northeast, autumn meant raking, prepping garden beds for their season of hibernation, general winterization of house and car. In short, there was much to do in addition to easing back in to the school year. Autumn meant college essays, lots of college essays, and writing college recommendations, lots of recommendations. You get the drift.
As individuals, we perceive things differently. My observation skills are very sharp. My mind has always been a rich source of sensory wanderlust. Where a person saw a tree with orange leaves, I saw a sentinel that had existed for decades as a place where people met. Were they sweethearts stealing kisses? Were they lovers planning a tryst? Were they there to settle a debt? Were they kids digging for buried treasure? In my mind, possibilities are endless.
The shorter days of autumn sometimes reveal a resplendence that only exists in Nature as rays of sun play on the many-hued leaves struggling to remain on the trees. “That time of year though mayst in me behold./When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang…”. Shakespeare, never at a loss for words, worked hard to portray both the melancholy of the fading of a season and of one’s life in his famous Sonnet 73. Time passes, things and people age and fade.
As a younger person, I enjoyed tramping through the woods. There was so much to observe, a veritable smorgasbord for my imagination. At times, stories flitted through my thoughts fueled by my environment. Mostly it provided quiet time to think as I sought to conquer problems, perceived or real. I’ve never classified myself as a loner, more as an individual who craves time alone. It’s just me. It helps me maintain an equilibrium. “Autumn wanders through the barren woods,/as fog cradles the pain she feels.” This is a passage from a poet named Angie Weiland-Crosby. It captures feelings that have always lived in me.
Yeah, yeah, am I always a Debbie Downer? Contrary to what is released through my writing, I am a cheerful and friendly individual in person. Many people, including former students and my mother, have suggested I try my hand at stand-up comedy. Don’t ever assume I’m joyless but don’t ever disrespect the pain I’ve felt. You aren’t me. You have never walked in my shoes. You couldn’t begin to imagine.
Now that I’ve had the time to stop, wander, and observe, I realize the depth of beauty that is autumn. Though it signals the coming of winter, it also promises the renewal of spring. So while autumn goes out in a blaze of glory, rather a Dylan Thomas-like “rage against the dying of the light,” so is it “Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.” (William Cullen Bryant)
Take a deep breath and ponder the accompanying photo taken of a recent morning moon. Perhaps you might sing a little song to yourself:
“And I wanna rock your gypsy soul/Just like in the days of old/And together we will float/Into the mystic.” Van Morrison
Stories Are For Eternity 