I love autumn!
So these last few mornings, when I get up and feel the nippy air, I am exhilirated. While I do love all the changing seasons, autumn has always been my favorite time of year.
I recall one time during a discussion, someone asked what time of day I liked best, and what time of year. Well, the time of day I love is sunset; and the time of year autumn. That response prompted the questionner to raise an eyebrow and ask: why do you like the two times that are symbolic of things drawing to a close? Short answer--I don't know.
Maybe it has something to do with good things happening in autumn: my daughter was born in October!
Maybe it has something to do with color. I love autumnal shades: vermillions, deep purples, yellows--all the colors.
Maybe it has something to do with football--a game I do love to watch, especially if it is Penn State football. For more almost 30 years, my husband and I have gone to many of Penn State's home games. The drive to State College is wondrous, (if you can ignore the awful traffic jams) particularly when the trees that cover Pennsylvania's rolling hills begin to turn color.
Maybe it has something to do with the crispness in the air. As I walk, I sometimes catch a drift of a wood burning fire, somewhere. That smell alone transports me to childhood days where the air frequently hung heavy with wood burning. (Scientists have demonstrated that the sense of smell is the most evocative sense we have--it can trigger memories like no other sense! Check out this site for info.)
Well, back to autumn. One poem captures the aspects of autumn that resonate with me--a sense that time is fleeting, but, oh so sweet in the present. Shakespeare (you knew it was coming, didn't you?) wrote Sonnet 73 which I have included as the fitting conclusion to this reverie on autumn.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.