Like most of us, "Papa" apparently saw autumn as a time of slumber, death, and endings. Surely, there's something to such a view. As leaves change to gold, crimson, and umber remnants of their former selves and skies darken with threats of algid rain, one can practically hear the Earth yawn. Naked branches appear to stretch in preparation for a long planetary nap.
Fields of beets, pumpkins, cabbages, lettuce, radishes, carrots, scallions, spinach, chicory, turnips, squash, and collards are picked bare and allowed to rest, some beneath early blankets of ivory snow. Meanwhile, epicurean longings turn from thoughts of ball park sausages, sundaes, and salads to dreams of rich stews, roasted fowl, and hearty venison dishes tailored to keep eaters full, warm, and content as we read on cozy evenings until we finally doze into pleasant sleep.
It occurs to me though, that as nature nestles drowsily down, society has refashioned the season into one of beginnings, rather than endings. Our school year begins in the fall. The market's busiest retail season kicks off in October. Our TV entertainment renews itself every autumn. We even elect our leaders in the fall, often reshaping the texture and tone of our government.
I have to wonder if the contrast between nature's cycle and civilization's schedule is purely a matter of happen stance, or if we timed things this way, however subconsciously, to provide ourselves with an annual sense of balance?
What do you think? Leave your thoughts below.