Why is Autumn so special?

 

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower” — Albert Camus

Arun Kumar

Autumn.

It is a beautiful time of the year. It is also a time of transition, both in the external world and in the world within.

Outside in the woods behind the house, trees have sensed the shrinking hours of daylight, felt the drop in the temperature, and on occasions, shivered in the chill of mornings. From their experience, or perhaps from instincts now carried in their genes, they know it is time to get ready for the winter that will be here soon.

And within, spurred by changes that are happening outside, autumn stirs a rainbow of emotions — a sense of peace, connectedness, sadness, melancholy, nostalgia.

Autumn.

Over a span of a week, leaves go through a metamorphosis and suddenly adorn themselves in different shades of color — red, orange, yellow, purple, gold…

On some days in the background of clear crisp blue sky (that only autumn days have), their colors stand out. Looking at them it seems like they are dancing in the breeze at a slower pace and are holding a special show.

Autumn.

It is time to hibernate the garden and clear the spots where perennials grew all through the summer having their own dazzling display of colors. But now, it is also time for them to also bid adieu.

It is also time to pick up the last red tomatoes hanging from the vines before they shrivel up after a night of hard freeze, after which, looking sad, they ask “did you forget about us.”

Autumn.

It is a reminder of the winter ahead. It is a reminder that by 5 pm the sun will be below the horizon and by 6 pm it will be dark. And while it would be cold outside, I would be safe wrapped in the cocoon and safety of home. Perhaps, I would be sitting in front of the warm glow of the fireplace with a glass of wine while shadows dance on the walls.

In going from summer to winter, the meaning and comfort of home changes in subtle ways.

Autumn.

It is a time when reminders of impermanence are all around. Impermanence is in the display of fallen leaves covering the ground, in the chill of the air, in the smell of burning wood from the smoke drifting from a chimney. It is in the honk of a flock of geese heading south (I would be wishing to do the same come January).

With impermanence abashedly at display, autumn is also the time of realization of my mortality and a gentle nudge that I am in the autumn of my life.

It is a time to remember that years slowly, but inadvertently, are passing away. With each passing year, that realization of mortality has an increasing sharpness and depth to it. And yet, the same realization is also a source of inner peace.

Autumn.

It is time for vague nostalgic emotions to knock on the door and say hello. Perhaps they come to ask how the spring and summer were, and if I would like to take a break and go back to places that in my mind’s eye are gentle, peaceful, but also, are filled with a soft ache of melancholy knowing that someday it all ends.

Autumn.

With its arrival, I am reminded that next year trees will once again wear colors, once more leaves will do their slow dance in the background of flawless blue sky, but bound by my finiteness, I may, or may not be around to appreciate.

Although there are no guarantees, for now, come next year I still intend to see it all though.

Autumn.

It is time to relish the anticipation of slipping under the warmth quilts and feeling of being back in the safety of mother’s womb and each morning when climbing out of the bed, have the feeling of being born again.

Autumn.

It is indeed a special time of the year.

Ciao.

Something of you will linger forever

 

There are endings that bring
a touch of sadness
yet they also hold
vague promises of eternity,

for although, come tomorrow
what I touch, see, smell,
savor, and hear
may not be there,

something of you
will linger forever. 

Wormholes and transitions

 

Arun Kumar

Mother’s Day. Father’s Day. Every day of the year is devoted to celebrating something.

For all germophobic out there during the time of COVID, there is also a day to celebrate cleanliness. Down the road, soon there might be a national mask wearing day.

Or maybe, every day of the year should be a national mask wearing day. Not only would we have fought the pandemic better, but there would also have been less bickering among the politicians.

There is also the day of our reckoning when the sum of all days in life is tallied, and a number written on a folded sheet is handed to us. That number is the Karma of all our deeds. We just hope that the number is positive, and we had a life that was well lived.

One day at a time, either lived with celebration or otherwise, the entire life passes away. It all happens in the units of a day.

Day is the fundamental unit that keeps turning pages of calendars into the past. The passing of the day is also a reminder of the impermanence of everything that surrounds us. The span of the day there are so many beginnings and endings.

It is a universal truth that everything begins, and everything ends. The subtle signs of beginnings and endings are everywhere. Some on a cosmic scale — a star exploding, its life coming to an end. In its last breath, it illuminates the night sky.

Others are more nuanced — a seed sprouting on the sidewalk living precariously and hoping to see another sunrise and not get run over by some wandering feet. If lucky, it will grow to give the much-needed shade to some restless soul.

The connection between beginnings and endings is a period of transitions. Transitions are the wormholes that connect the endless cycle of beginnings and endings.

It seems inevitable that the smooth passage of time will eventually be punctuated by transitions — something ends and makes room for something new to begin. The day when we leave home to go to college followed by the day we finish college and embark on a long career, followed by…

In navigating most of these transitions, the stepping stones are all laid out for us. The wormhole is already in place and all that is needed is to step into it. With the ease and naturalness of breathing, we close one door behind and open another in front.

Every transition, however, is not that easy. In some, there is no wormhole waiting for us. There is nothing obvious in front of us to step into.

After some endings, to navigate further, we have our work cut out. We have to construct the wormhole, and that could turn out to be like a layperson needing to learn quantum mechanics. It is not a trivial endeavor.

Some transitions, like the day we retire, or the day when the realization of mortality begins to stick to our skin fall in that category.

Another category of hard transitions could be struggling to navigate the wormhole that connects psychological changes in perspectives. One such change in perspective is how we perceive the passage of the day, and it happens when we begin to realize the fundamental importance of the day, the basic unit of how we spend our time.

Before the change in perspective a day used to be just a day. It started and it ended. Nothing more and nothing less. The sun rose, and many hours later, it set.

Afterwards is the awareness that the passage of a day means much more than it seems to be.

Beneath the surface, there is an awareness that days add up to a week, weeks to a month, months to a year, and years to a life lived. With that, how we decide to live a day adds up to how we lived this life.

At some point of time in life a realization comes that on average we live around 30,000 days (~ 82 years) and out of that we have already lived 25,000 days (~ 68 years), and what is left is 5,000 (~ 14 years) more to go.

The span of life counted in the number of days is a jarring change of perspective and adjusting to this transition requires building a wormhole.

And did you know that there is also a national wine day. A day we can all look forward to longingly.

Ciao.

Perhaps in a year, I will see you all

It is the sublime moments of autumn's grace,
Leaves are dancing but at a slower pace,
Wearing hues of amber, yellow, and gold,,
Beneath the blue sky, what a show they hold.

Impermanence lives, summer days recede,
It is time to listen to the garden’s needs.
Thank the perennials for their summer blossoms,
The joy they gave was nothing but awesome.

The sun stays low, horizon it hugs,
And hallelujah, no more bugs.
Smoke curls from chimneys to the sky,
In autumn's embrace, sit content, you and I.

It is 6 pm and darkness abounds,
Birds in their nests make some sounds.
Wrapped in the cocoon of my own cozy retreat,
Times for hot chocolate warm and sweet.

Watching changes, mortality stirs,
Time remaining could be a spur.
It is autumn of life, and another page falls,
Perhaps in a year, I will see you all.

(but no guarantees)