Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. --George Eliot

Towards the end of the Ninth Month and the beginning of the Tenth, the sky is clouded over; there is a strong wind; and the yellow leaves fall gently to the ground, especially from the cherry trees and the elms. All this produce a most pleasant sense of melancholy. --from ch. 118 of the Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon translated by the late, great Ivan Morris

ome feel that the sense of smell is the most evocative, particularly for its uncanny ability to conjure up a specific time and place as well as one’s feelings from deepest recesses of a person’s memory. With that in mind, autumn is the most evocative of seasons. As summer recedes, the initial scent of leaves in the crisp, cool air never fails to trigger a whole slate of mixed emotions in a way that no other season manages to come close. For as long as I can remember, the beginning of the year always starts in autumn. The date 01 January is meaningless to me. It's only now that I'm beginning to adjust to the fact that I'm not getting ready to go back to school in August or September. Yes, once in awhile I don't mind enjoying the long, carefree days of fooling around until well into the evening. I love the benefits of summer vacations while I was in school. However, in the end, I prefer to get down to business. I like going to class. Summer and warm weather in general make me lazy and cranky. It's too hot to do anything. It's too hot to move. How can anyone else do anything worthwhile in this heat? God I hate hot weather. (Look, if it's cold, you put on a jacket. If it's hot, there's really nothing you can do about it.) Furthermore, everything feels too bright or garish, and more than any other time in the year, everything's disrespectful of your Weltanschauung [bonus word I'm required to use today]. How can you be serious when everyone's goofing off? Summer is brash, loud, and extroverted. In fact, people are often up to no good when the weather is hot and the air is still. Crime skyrockets during the warmer months in cities such as Chicago. Raymond Chandler once wrote that in times like that, "every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen." I'm not even going to get into how Joan Didion feels when the insidious Santa Ana winds blow in during late summers.

ome people like spring, but for me, it's still a bit too warm on some days, and it can be hellish due to allergies. On the other hand, autumn provides a welcoming sense of relief, especially if you live in relatively warm climates. Carson McCullers once wrote in The Ballad of the Sad Café:

That autumn was a happy time... winter quilts were aired out on the wash lines, and sweet potatoes bedded in the ground with straw against the colder months to come. In the evening, delicate shreds of smoke rose from the chimneys, and the moon was round and orange in the autumn sky. There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.

There's depth to autumn. The season can also be delightfully melancholy (yes, it's possible) as well as perhaps the most poetic of seasons. Fall is full of paradoxes and complex emotions. To make a gross over-generalisation, I feel that people become more thoughtful. As the temperatures drop, some turn inward or mournful. There's less shouting and more thinking. In other words, people become more bearable. (Human beings in general talk too much. You'd wish everybody would just shut the fuck up more often. Ultimately, I like it when people are quiet and only speak when necessary. Perhaps then can they actually start to listen to each other, and comprehend what's being said. Perhaps for once they can even hear themselves. They gain insight.) They feel regret for things they haven't been able to accomplish in the summer. They remember the days wasted, or relationships that fail to survive the summer holidays. The days become shorter, the nights become colder. Everyone moves back indoors whenever possible. There aren't any more excuses for putting off work. Autumn actually rekindles somewhat of a sense of purpose in life. The crisp air invigorates what little confidence you have left in you. Your steps may even quicken a wee bit as you walk, in order to keep warm. You have places to go and things to do. Time is running out.

utumn also works on another level in addition to getting people back into work or school. While it may be the start of a term for many, it somehow feels like the beginning of the end for many more. At the risk of stating the obvious, nature becomes semiotically loaded. The changing colour of leaves suggests the way hair changes to grey as a person grows older. While the turning colour of leaves transforms trees into stunning specimens, the leaves then quickly fall. Life somehow abruptly ends at the peak of its glory. It's an easily adaptable metaphor. In autumn, the passage of time hits home; the innocence and youthful vigour of summer gives way to middle-aged introspection of fall. No more fooling around; no more illusions. The best of times are behind you. Ultimately, the world becomes serious in autumn. People snap out of it. Back in reality, the season works with you. (At least it works with me.) The cool, crisp air invigorates me. It's flannel weather. The weather's perfect for writing, studying, and research. It's good for particular forms of civilised leisure too, like reading in bed, or having a good cup of tea. (I heard from someone somewhere that due to the often perfect and even quality of light, Woody Allen always shoots his features in autumn.) The smell of burning logs from neighbourhood chimneys remains evocative of too many indescribable sentiments season after season. I'm down for whatever. Let's get to work.

September 1995