Autumn is rolling into the world; a soft whisper in our days, a little bit louder each day. To me, this is the most beautiful time of the year. The sunlight falls golden, a gentle breeze embraces the still luscious trees, the world is enveloped in picturesque elegance. Autumn looks the way that far away beauty of nostalgia feels, save for its melancholy. The air is about to get colder, but our eyes and laughter grow warmer. The trees are turning a hundred colours we forget ever existed, friends & family draw closer together in knitted scarves, the teapot is always full and steaming. The air is fresh. The world doesn’t feel so busy, but rich and peaceful with a sense of life well & fully lived.
Then there are the autumn leaves. A light breeze sends a shower of magnificent colours twirling through the golden light with a soft rustle. These autumn leaves have been glorified throughout time – in painting, in poetry, in photography. Why are we so drawn to this image? What is the enchantment of these extinguishing little lives? Perhaps we find joy in such a sight: crisp leaves catching the light, as decoration against the canvas of the sky. Floating in such a lively spirit, suspended in the air just a while. Suspended and stopped in time like they are free and flying above us, above all the mundane cares on our minds. Perhaps it is their symbolic beauty. The leaves float around neither stuck to the ground nor trapped to their roots in the trees. We may find ourselves wistful among the falling leaves, to float gracefully through change and through age, not stuck in a place but dancing in the light, ripe with life.
Or maybe they simply look pretty & I’m a poetically pretentious fool. Who knows.