©WholesomeNsuchArt
Autumn used to be my favorite time of year. Notwithstanding what lay ahead—the abundant snowfall, lack of light and bitter cold that were and perhaps still are a feature of Wisconsin winters—I welcomed the restart September implied. Some of my hopeful mood had to do with the start of a new school year, some with the meaning of the season to my parents, casual followers of Judaism whose children eventually failed to connect. Most of it had to do with the sights, sounds, and smells of the season. Rustling leaves, brilliant colors from gold to umber. All things apple and most things pumpkin (except coffee). The light is different, too, diffuse, filtered.
But the loss of my husband on September 11 made it hard to enter autumn. Then my sister died some years later, on November 30th. Grief now bracketed the season. Autumn was as many others had always seen it—a time of endings.
Flash forward to 2022. At the end of one of the worst late spring/early summers in memory (yes, even worse than the height of the pandemic), I ought to be “over” this next season. I’m not. For one thing, I live in the Northeast and autumn is our time to shine. While the south battles excessive heat and terrifying storms and the west deals with the threat of wildfires, we have been favored with blue skies, changing leaves, and perfect temperatures. Given how hot it was this summer, I wasn’t even sure we’d have any beautiful fall days. This year, at least, we do.
I eat, dress and exercise differently in the fall. My favorite outfit is jeans, a sweater, and a jacket. My boots, my sneakers, my hiking shoes give me far more joy than sandals ever could. I’ve been on my bike for the first time since before the surgery. My refrigerator is stocked with apple cider, my shelves with canned pumpkin. I’ve got toe warmers and snuggly socks and a comforter I love on the bed.
According to everything any of us will ever read, I am in the “autumn” of my life. Maybe that fact, along with my body’s refusal to stave off time, ought to depress me. Some days it does. Other days, I hop on the bike or take a walk in the neighborhood, breathing in air that is neither humid or hazy. I can make plans; everyone has plans in the fall. I can also plan not to make plans and curl up in front of the fireplace to read or watch TV.
Autumn used to be my favorite time of year. It will be again.
