“Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.”

— Faith Baldwin

In case I haven’t mentioned it about a dozen times, I just love Autumn.  It is one of my favorite times of the year.  Today is one of those early autumn days when we awoke to a twenty-degree drop in temperature, the smell of decaying vegetable plants, and the intoxicating aroma of fallen leaves lying damp beneath the dew of the night.  Add a fresh cup of coffee and a lightweight jacket, stir well, and you now know my recipe for a perfect Fall morning.

There are those of us who have anticipated this day.  Only yesterday, as my favorite child did her physical therapy exercises, the therapists, patients and drivers all talked about the coming change in the weather.  Her therapist, speaking as though he could read my mind, cried out, “I just LOVE Fall!”  I chimed right in, and soon the talk turned to pumpkins and apples and cider; to the problem with knowing how warmly to dress the children when they left for school in the morning; to the sheer pleasure of walking along a trail in the woods and seeing the magnificent color of the autumn leaves.

As we went on and on, singing the splendor of our favorite season, a small voice chimed in.  ”I don’t like Fall.  It makes me sad.  There’s not enough light, and the clouds make me feel closed in.  I get Seasonal Affective Disorder.”  The woman who spoke went on to say, “Give me March, when everything is just starting to grow again — that’s my favorite time of the year.”

Funny, I thought.  If you break it down and look only at the pieces of October and March, they are very much alike.  Only a few leaves appear on the trees.  The ground is mostly brown, with only patches of green here and there.  The days and nights are fairly equal in length, and the air is cool and damp.  What is it about March that fills this woman with hope, while October instead brings sadness?

This week has been one filled with opportunities to revisit our feelings about birth and death, beginnings and endings.  It is part of being human to face our mortality; and the sudden death of a young husband of a friend has stirred that reality in many of us.  The fact that five years ago her son passed away only adds to the heaviness we have felt as the news landed that she had suffered another loss.  Maybe that’s what Fall stirs in us as well — the sense that our days are numbered and that in spite of all we might do to avoid it, Winter will come.  Endings can be difficult to bear; and Autumn surely is about endings.

I am not going to say that I feel no twinge of regret when Autumn’s chill fills the air.  For me, Autumn marks the beginning of the end of another year of living.  It is a bittersweet time — one that foreshadows the coming silence of winter, but one that calls to my memory all the birth and growth and abundance of Spring and Summer.  And just to soften the blow, Autumn wraps up the year in such color and splendor and beauty that in spite of our feelings of loss, we just can’t help but dance through the flame-orange piles of leaves and take in the last amazing burst of life before winter comes.

What Autumn speaks to me is that life does cycle — year to year, and lifetime to lifetime; and when it is time to move toward my own winter, I want to do it with the joy, the color, and the sense of gratitude that Fall offers me each and every year.