After Summer’s lazy sun-kissed days have become shorter and her balmy nights cooler, Autumn slowly begins to rouse. Subtly she peers out from her deepest slumber; a gentle sigh escaping her mahogany lips causes the winds to blow and turn brisk.
It is time.
With a stunning grace, Autumn rises. She sways with a fiery passion while consumed with power. Autumn, for a small moment in time, grants us the glorious illusion that everything she touches becomes magnificently alive.
She walks with purpose, tenderly cupping each leaf watching them turn a kaleidoscope of colors, from hopeful greens to burnt oranges and sultry reds before she blows them a loving kiss and watches them drift softly to the mossy ground below. The cycle begins anew.
What an extraordinary challenge Autumn has, to be empowered with the gift to give the world one last glimpse of absolute beauty before that long sleep. To make nature come alive with such exquisite detail that artists struggle to capture the pristine awe of it all.
She takes pride in her fine work, shedding the old with love and lighting it up to behold one last time before it is replaced – again.
Autumn isn’t the bringer of death, for everything shall die. Autumn celebrates the life that was lived and shines her ethereal glow upon every last piece of nature that has given itself over to that cycle to begin again.
Autumn brings her dark nights and short days and after her show of fire and mist she leaves me and tucks me in. I dream of Autumn during that long sleep, her colors and her fire keep me whole. The maples in my yard and the wildlife feasting on the berries in my field bring me great pleasure. If I could stay wrapped in Autumn’s embrace and ethereal beauty I don’t think depression could ever touch me again, but Winter takes her place and he is vicious and hard. He is cruel and uncaring and lurks about in darkened corners while Autumn works her beautiful magic.
People say death brings about beauty, maybe so, but that isn’t my Autumn. My Autumn celebrates the life that nature gave us this past year, not the life it will cease to give us next year. Yes, those particular blooms, leaves, and life are done, they have given themselves to all of us, and we are grateful, but my Autumn celebrates that with a fiery display and puts the rest into that long and peaceful sleep where we pray that depression cannot touch us.
For when Old Man Winter makes his debut, he makes children smile and that makes me smile, but I miss my Autumn because Winter brings with it sadness.
I curl up with my books and look out of my frosty windows and wish for my burning Maples and fermented berries and I miss the white-tailed deer that visit my doorstep.
Depression for me ebbs and flows with the seasons and Autumn is my salvation with her fiery eyes and loving touch and promise that when she lights everything up to say goodnight she tucks it all in gently for Spring to kiss it good morning, and that gives me hope that depression will also fade away in the light of a single warm sunrise.