Autumn began at 9:54 pm last night; day and night were equals.
Around the same time, I entered my fiftieth year. Today is my 49th birthday proper -September 23rd – but as I was born around 3AM in Ireland, my birthday started around 10 o’clock last night while the seasons were in flux.
I can feel them shifting. I love the transitions; when day gives way through dusk to night, when affection tumbles into love, the transport to other worlds when the theatre lights dim and then rise.
I love the relief autumn brings after the sun-baked madness of summer. Just as I think I perhaps can’t bear more heat, can’t handle the long days and restless nights, have sown and grown and harvested enough and want instead to savour and contemplate – along comes the fall.
Bring me the Fall Fairs, painted trees, cozy sweaters and the longing to cuddle for warmth in the evenings. Bring me full larders and the sound of crows in the mornings. Bring me the scent of winter in the night air, mixed with the certainty that there is time yet before winter arrives.
It’s not that I don’t like summer. I wake each summer day excited to feel the sun on my skin. There’s little sleep in the summer; the long days are full and the night is scant. Patios, beaches, deep green trees, fragrant flowers, song birds and music around campfires. I adore summer: I can’t keep it from passing.
The seasons follow one another inexorably and interminably. I breath in the beautiful ache of the transitions. I anticipate and relish the favours of each interval, allowing their changes to wash over and through me until I feel I perhaps can’t take any more and lo, the next cusp arrives.