I have lived most of my life in academic years. A new year began with the first day of school and ended with graduation and finals. Seven years into retirement, I still think of a year divided into thirds: 1st semester, 2nd semester, and summer vacation.
Fall, along with beginnings (new school supplies, classrooms of fresh faces, back to school assemblies) and assault upon senses (vibrant trees, pumpkin spice candles, cozy sweaters), often conjures melancholy feelings. Over twenty years ago, my sister and I attended our university’s homecoming football game and later found ourselves sipping beers at a local collegiate bar. As my usually cheerful sister gazed out over the crowded establishment, she said, “I don’t know why but I have such a feeling of melancholy. These things always make me feel…I don’t know…sad.”
Her comment stuck with me all these year later. Why is that? I have always loved the word melancholy. It is layered, complex, yet surprisingly simple. Melancholy sounds like it feels, like a sigh.
Fall is a melancholy season. Even the name Fall recollects the passing of time. Dying flowers. Browning grass. Falling leaves. It is a transition from summer warmth to winter cold. (Even if you live in an area with little to no change of seasons, you can sense fall. It is in your psyche.) Fall prepares us for endings. We know we cannot hang onto brightness forever, because…everything changes. We may fight or deny or challenge such change, but Fall requires us to acknowledge our own vulnerability.
Fall reminds us of endings, the earth’s - and our own - cycles. When I was a child, after my father raked the leaves to the curb, he would light a match and we’d gather to watch leaves transform into smoke. Even though most communities no longer allow residents to burn leaves (for legitimate health reasons), wisps of crackling logs from neighbors’ fire pits take me back to those hazy, melancholic times.
The darkening smoky days of September, October, and November whisper to us, “This is life, dear one. Beginnings. Endings. We love. We celebrate. We cry. Life is bittersweet longing. It is our shared stories, our compassion, our aching hearts.”
A melancholy sigh of memories.
Fall.
“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honey sweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.” - Rainer Maria Rilke
“Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love - that makes life and nature harmonize.” - George Eliot