The Seasoned Fall
When my daughter recently asked me what my favorite season was, I didn’t hesitate. I told her that fall had always been my favorite season. I believe that one’s favored season is innate, inherited like hair and eye color. Fall has always been special to me and as a Dad
I was proud to learn that, it too, was her favorite
That special something about fall has always been apparent to me. Now that I’m heading into the autumn of life, it seems that my appreciation for it has matured. When young, beyond fall’s wonderment, I didn’t fully comprehend its rank among the others. Something about fall’s sounds, smells and of course her visual ecstasies, arouse my emotions in a way that is difficult to explain. In my youth, the gift of perfect vision allowed me to enjoy the beauty of fall’s changing foliage, but that same youthful inexperience, denied me the clarity to appreciate her nobility and prestige among the seasons. In her wake, the heat of summer relents, bowing to this seasoned professional. And even the old man that is winter, pays tribute, genuflecting when autumn’s work is done.
In all, having experienced over two hundred seasons, I realize that the scope of fall’s rapture extends beyond mere visual pleasure. With life experience, so has an appreciation, for the sounds of autumn. Fall’s crispness, the sounds of rustling leaves and the haunting lyrics of great songwriters, who have interpreted fall’s allure have drawn me closer.
The sounds of fall are different from the other seasons. She is neither quiet, like the soft white blanket laid gently in the night by wintertime or the spontaneous splash of a springtime shower. Autumn’s sights and sounds are unrivaled. Her uniqueness threatens the others. The summer solstice, attempts to hold on beyond its official end. Fall allows her jealous predecessor time to bask, in those unofficial days known as, “Indian Summer.” In her maturity she knows that the remnants of summer’s warmth, will only add to the abundance of her yield. Fading fast, the brilliance that was summer realizes her end and stays to admire the beauty of the autumnal equinox. At its ebb, summer surrenders her famed winds and morning dew to fall’s trusted perpetual care.
I believe that autumn reveals the peace that comes with the acceptance of decline. As my companion, she has cushioned my fall and spared me the pain of denial. And so year after year, we continue meeting this way, knowing that our rendezvous will end at harvest.
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