Yesterday was Autumn's official start. As it happens, it was also the first day on my astrological sign, that of the Libra. Coincidentally, there was also a new moon up in the skies, yesterday. It is as if the twenty third of September 2014 was a day of new beginings, new starts per excellence.
It has become seen as some sort of a cliché to say that one loves Fall. The rustle of falling leaves beneath one's feet, the russet, orange and gold sported by nature, the longer nights, the shorter days, that early morning chill as you get out of bed and enter your kitchen, candles lit in your living room, the warmth of milky teas and hot chocolates, knits, throws, blankets; fresh, juicy pears, tart, crisp apples, acorns and pines, those golden sunsets, the sudden showers. Autumn is a cliché of poetic imagery.
And yet, for all my rebelious declarations of being different, out of form, the dreaded black sheep, I do love Fall. I was born smack in the middle of October, I am ineed a child of Autumn, and that is the season I feel most comfortable with. As I am such a sensorial person, my creativity is spurred mainly by sensations, and those come from the sight of a pretty flower arrangement, a seasonal vignette, or the thought of a full on roast, with sweet potatoes, ripe tomatoes, butternut squash, the scent of cinnamon filling the house from the oven where an apple cake or pie happens to be baking, the idea of cozying myself up on my daybed, with a soft throw and a magazine, a cup of tea right next to me, the sight of the ground covered in fallen leaves, and the trees ablaze with their colours, all this appeals to me in a way I cannot describe, but must only feel. All this wakens me up to life in ways nothing else does.
But the same can be said of the first day of Winter, and that hazy, white light that enters my living room in the early afternoon, that first fire set to avoid deep chills, the Christmas tree all lit up in its glory, and the house decorated with the reds and deep greens and the golds of the season. I could also tell you how my whole body seems to sing and resonate when Spring finally comes around, and I see the first green shoots hitting the trees in front of my window, and the grass that begins to spurt, and the way the light changes and becomes more vibrant, more alive, as if life was slowly awaking from slumbers. And then I could speak for hours of that first day of Summer when your bathing suit finally comes out and you head to the beach, or that first ice cold beer that quenches your thirst, or the seafood you start craving abundantly, and the strawberries, and the cherries, an the salads that seem to be all you want to eat, and those long, long days when you think the sun may shine in the sky forever, and the walks by the seashore, and picnics in the woods, and bare feet an bare legs and bare souls... there is poetry in every season, it is true, and I cannot say I do not love each one of them when they turn and come around, because I would be lying. My body is very attached to the seasonal changes, my senses as well, but in all honesty, Fall is my favourite, for it is when I most find myself open to change, and hopeful of good things to come, and eager to live those days to the full, and energized, and reay, and able to take on the world. So, yes, as cliché-ed as it may be, I do love Fall.