Autumn slipped into our week, almost unnoticed. It showed up just after 8 pm on Tuesday, quietly, but full of promise. It shook hands with summer, bidding it a
well-deserved rest, and assumed its mantle of leadership, such as it has since the dawn of time.
Before it leaves us in December, it will have done what it does best, ushered in a season of transition while showcasing just how beautiful the world can be. It will
give us some of the holidays and festivals we most cherish, such as Thanksgiving and Hallowe’en, and reintroduce us to wool sweaters, farmers’ markets, fires in
the hearth, and the magic in a cup that is pumpkin spice.
It is difficult to find someone who is not willing to profess their love for Autumn. There aren’t many things that we can all agree on, but I like to think that the Fall
is one that we can. What is there not to love? The poet and naturalist Henry David Thoreau once described October as the “month of painted leaves.” It is indeed.
Who wouldn’t take an opportunity if it were given, to venture into the backroads of Muskoka, or Hockley Valley, or the Bruce Peninsula at the height of the season,
when the reds of the maple tree bleed with such beauty we can scarcely conjure the words to describe it. Thoreau also said this about this time of year, “the
beauty of Autumn is its own reason.”
Beauty is a perfect word to describe and define Autumn, but Autumn has another job to do while it is with us. It highlights the beauty of the world, while also
preparing us for winter. It allows for the trees to drop their leaves to give them a better chance of surviving the coming snow. Its northern winds urge the birds and
butterflies to take flight to warmer climates. For animals not lucky enough to be given a round-trip ticket to the tropics, autumn thickens their fur and fattens
them for hibernation, so winter will not best them.
Autumn is very much a working season. It arrives during the complacency of September, when we can still fool ourselves into believing that summer will
outlast itself. It quickly puts on its boots and gets to work. It knows that summer has its shelf-life, and it won’t be fooled. If September is the season’s snooze
button, October is its alarm, rousing us to get ready for what is to come. “Time to bring in the wood” was a phrase I heard over and over again during October in
rural New Brunswick. Autumn comes with its list of chores to be done, under a canopy so beautiful we can be forgiven for being distracted.
Autumn is so many things. It is a season of both beauty and practicality; a season that nurtures something within us that craves the unique tones, hues, smells and textures that it offers, while gently urging us to prepare ourselves for the first snowflakes that draw us away, and towards what is to come. As Mary Oliver
wrote in her poem “Song For Autumn”, “…and don’t you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye.”
On December 21st, spent and tired, it will hand things over to winter and take its own well-deserved rest. Its chores will be done; its goals will be met. It will leave
with little fanfare; after all, the world won’t have time to say goodbye; it will be focused on celebrating Christmas. I think it likes it that way. There is, it seems, a
certain humility built into Fall.
But the end is a long time away. For now, it’s just getting started. May you enjoy it. All of it. Every last pumpkin-spiced moment of it.
“Autumn… the year’s last, loveliest smile.” – William Bryant
