After Summer’s lazy sun-kissed days have become shorter and her balmy nights cooler, Autumn slowly begins to rise. Subtly she peers out from her deepest slumber; a gentle sigh escaping her mahogany lips causes the winds to blow and turn brisk. It is time.
With a stunning grace, Autumn awakens, swaying with passion and consumed with power, and for a small moment in time, grants us the glorious illusion that everything she touches becomes magnificently alive.
She walks with purpose, tenderly cupping each leaf, watching them turn a kaleidoscope of colours from hopeful greens to burnt oranges and sultry reds, before she blows them a loving kiss and watches them drift softly to the mossy ground below. The cycle begins anew.
What an extraordinary challenge Autumn has, to be empowered with the gift to give the world one last glimpse of absolute beauty before that long sleep. To make nature come alive with such exquisite detail that artists struggle to capture the pristine awe of it all. She takes pride in her fine work, shedding the old with love and lighting it up to hold one last time before it is dropped and forgotten.
Autumn isn’t the bringer of death, for everything shall die. Autumn celebrates the life that was lived and shines her ethereal glow upon every last piece of nature that has given itself over to that cycle to begin again.
Autumn brings with her dark nights and short days, and after her show of fire and mist, she leaves me and tucks me in. I dream of Autumn during that long sleep, her colours and her fire keep me whole. The maples in my yard and the wildlife feasting on the berries in my field bring me great pleasure. If I could stay wrapped in Autumn’s embrace and ethereal beauty I don’t think depression could ever touch me again, but Winter takes her place and he is vicious and hard. He is cruel and uncaring and he lurks about in darkened corners while Autumn weaves her magic.
Some people say death brings beauty with it, maybe so, but that isn’t my Autumn. My Autumn celebrates the life that Mother Nature gave us this past year, not the life it will cease to give us next year. Yes, those particular blooms, leaves and life are done, they have given themselves to us and we are grateful, and my Autumn celebrates each one with a fiery display that puts them all to rest in a long and peaceful sleep, one not easily awoken by depression.
When Old Man Winter makes his debut, he will make children smile and I will miss my Autumn because Winter brings sadness with him. I curl up with my books and look out of my frosty windows and wish for the burning Maples and fermented berries, and I miss the white-tailed deer that visit my doorstep.
Depression for me ebbs and flows with the seasons and Autumn is my salvation with her fiery eyes and loving touch, and the promise that when she lights everything up to say good night, she will tuck it all in gently for Spring to kiss it good morning, and that gives me hope that depression will also fade away in the light of a single warm sunrise.
© Nicole Lyons 2015