If the Seasons were a song that Nature sings and sways to all year long, I think it’s a song composed in the key of Autumn. Autumn soothes our souls by turning the dusty green leaves worn out by summer’s heat into an enchanting palette of colors. Autumn is also the apotheosis of Nature’s eternal wisdom that letting go is essential for renewal, that rest is needed after an adventure, that death is necessary for rebirth.
This song called Seasons plays continuously in the background all year long, as we go about our daily lives. Jobs, groceries, commute, school, parties and what not. Meanwhile, the disc keeps turning, perceptibly at times, imperceptibly at others. Winter is the silence between the notes. Or the outro that slowly turns into the intro, the Spring. Green buds sprouting up on naked branches; a thin coat of yellow formed by dandelions on the green grass; flowers blooming, smiling at their own shadows. Summer is the rhythm, the chorus. Verdant fields stretching into the horizon; trees draped in a lush green blanket of leaves; the smell of earth after a showering of warm rain, languid days that linger into the late evening and lure us into adventures.
Then comes Autumn, the melody. It’s the piece that gives the song its distinctive quality and elevates it to a transcendental level. The green blanket of leaves slowly turn into a polka-dot like pattern of yellow, red, orange interspersed amongst the green. And before long, they transform into chromatic canvases, like magic, adding depth to the daily surroundings. They bring joy and solace like the soulful sound of saxophone does, adorning a musical piece after the chorus. Trees delight at seeing their own multihued reflections on the still water. Autumn is the alchemy that turns a stroll or a drive into a joyous ride through a painter’s gallery. It’s the soothing, whooshing, crunching sound of treading on leaves in silent woods. Autumn is Mark Knofler’s guitar solo. Not only is Autumn enchanting, it is also fleeting. In a short few weeks, through wind and rain, the trees go all naked, done for the year. Only the leaves that remain on the ground betray the joyful show of the previous few weeks.
With the colors that the leaves exude before falling off and withering way, Autumn reminds us that it is beautiful to let go of things. To dance enchantingly even if you know the show is about to end. Perhaps Nature has the wisdom to wither away gracefully because she lives with certitude that there will be rebirth come Spring. For her, Winter is merely a hiatus, not the end. During Winter’s hibernation, everything appears naked and quiet but underneath the soil, there is a vigorous process of renewal to start the show again come Spring. In stark contrast, the only certitude we mortals have is that when we are gone, we stay gone. This singular terminality of our fate means we fail to have any sense of humor about death, let alone grace or wisdom. To experience Autumn every year, to hear the soulful notes of its enchanting colors is to admire that grace although one may never attain it.
Master and the Middle 