I realize why I love the Fall so much.
The same reason why I love travel.
The pause in between breaths.
In that brief pause between inhaling and exhaling is where I find the most clarity.
Fall is that in between, a mid-stage metamorphosis.
Of course being a November baby, it’s easy for me to be partial to my birth season.
Most people are. Perhaps it’s just an affirmation of self worth and celebration of their existence, perhaps it goes deeper to the core, where everything about a person’s past present and future is linked to their favorite season. I don’t know and maybe I’ll never know. Maybe it doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. But my favorite time of the year is almost always during those few shorts weeks in between summer and winter.
Besides, there are so many milestones and reverent events that transpire during the Fall:
Halloween
Thanksgiving
Pumpkin pie (but not pumpkin spice lattes)
Black Friday, Cyber Monday sales
Jackets and hoodies
Autumn in New York, walking in Central Park when the leaves change color
That sweet pungent ambrosia of fallen leaves, full of earthiness with a tinge of decay;
The blending and colors, tone on tone, shades and rich hues that evoke splendor and curiosity;
The transition of time that you can witness daily,
As if time slows down so you can get a glimpse of the world in flux.
The weather matches my mood, my mood swings, my tempestuous but mostly even-keeled temperament.
Melancholic. Bittersweet. Pensive.
But also the dread of the inevitable symbolic and literally coldness of death approaching that is winter. The signal of the latter phases of the cycle of life and death. The infinite, the only constant that is change, the birth, death, and rebirth like the Ouroboros, a snake eating its tail in a never-ending circle.
Where does it end, where do I begin?
The name carries inherently deep symbolic meaning. I’m ready to start falling. Up.