In my last article, written in the throes of a heatwave, I discussed my aim to enjoy the extremes of the seasons. I was in no hurry to wish summer away and intended to make the most of each lingering summer-like moment while it lasted. Now, almost abruptly it seems, summer has come to an end, leading me to reflect on the beautiful season of autumn.
While I love summer, its warm weather, its long hours of daylight and its relaxed schedule, I also love the fall. Crisp days and new routines remind me of my childhood and the excitement of having new books, new classmates, new activities, and cozy, new sweaters knitted by my great-aunt Vera. While summer comes to an end, preparation for a new school year always brings the joy of a fresh start.
I still find comfort in the sensory stimulation of fall. I love to hear dry leaves crunch beneath my feet, to inhale the aroma of fall fruits ripening on the trees, and to witness a stunning array of colour provided by the trees.
We celebrate the gifts of nature’s maturity, so I tend to wonder, “Why, in the ‘autumn’ of a human life, do so many people try to hide their natural changes?” Instead of taking pride in a crumbling body, many go to great expense to lift and tuck away the marks of experience. Instead of celebrating the fruits of life’s labours, many discredit themselves with the label “old-fashioned.” Instead of accepting the reality of thinning hair, it has become almost trendy for young men to completely shave their heads, thus avoiding any awkward transitions from young to not-so-young. Instead of admiring the colours of maturing hair – silvers, greys, and highlighted mixtures – many disguise their earned status, with “dyeing intentions” (pun intended!) of appearing younger.
At this point in my life, I have never dyed my hair. I have always been content with my natural colour. I know that not everyone is trying to cover grey hair and that dyeing hair can be a fun way to express oneself; yet, while I can’t promise that I will never dye my hair, I don’t really want to begin doing so now. I don’t want the stress of covering up roots or pretending that I’m younger than I am. I’m proud that I’ve lived enough to earn a few grey hairs; however, as a woman in today’s society, I feel a certain amount of pressure to cover the grey.
Why are we so enamoured with the beauty of nature’s death and simultaneously so afraid of signs of our own mortality?
In her poem, The
Falling Leaves, Joyce Rupp asks a similar question:
this gigantic death scene
of leaves
does not smell of sorrow and sadness,
rather, the earth is
coloured with joy
and the leaves make music in the wind.
why is this dance
of death so lovely?
why do leaves seem so willing to go?
are they
whispering to each other,
urging one another to be freed?
Even though nature’s changes symbolize a season’s death, they also comfort us with the joy and promise of a new beginning. Each leaf provides nutrients for the soil, giving life to other plants; each fruit contains the seeds for its offspring; each tree branch holds next spring’s buds. Knowing this, we bid the plants sweet slumber, allowing them to hibernate in peace.
We watch the changing seasons with an innately understood rhythm. The “dance of death” performed by falling leaves encourages us to prepare for winter’s colds by stocking freezers and pantries, pulling out warm clothing and bedding, and enjoying fireplaces in the early evening darkness. The song reminds us that after the dormant rest of winter comes the freshness and new hope of spring.
We are called to join in the chorus: to embrace the beauty of our own changes, as warmly as we welcome the beauty of fall. We must support one other, as changes prepare us for our next life’s next “season” and, ultimately, our eternal springtime.
As the leaves “[urge] one another to be freed,” we too must live in the moment, savouring and learning from the memories, yet freeing ourselves from pressure to hold on to the past.