For a variety of reasons that I shan’t dwell on I have found this season – the autumn of 2022 – to be particularly stressful and unpleasant. There are a variety of idioms that can be summoned from the vaults of our culture to express the feeling that I have been experiencing and foremost among them is the notion that the “wheels are starting to come off the wagon.” Another expression that might suffice to communicate my feelings would be, “the sparks are flying.” And then of course there is my favorite idiom brought to us by our delightfully eccentric cousins “across the pond.” Thought to originate with the British military in WWII as a way to indicate a general failure of equipment, or a disaster resulting in destruction, the Brits would say, “It’s all gone tits up.”
In such times of stress I often find myself retreating into Nature’s comforting embrace and whenever I find a couple hours to head down to the meadow I find myself dreaming. It might be the early hour of the morning, it might be temperatures in the 40s slowly freezing me to death, or it might be the soothing small sounds of the chickadees as they visit me for breakfast, but whatever causes these dreams I find that they tend to gravitate toward the whimsical notion of Mother Nature and her four daughters (the four seasons). I am not the first person to think of this, but I have my own interpretation of the idea.
In my particular version of the story, Mother Nature and Father Time have four daughters: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. Each of these daughters has responsibilities for certain portions of the year and each wears a long, flowing gown that embodies the characteristics of the world during the time for which she is responsible.
We currently find ourselves comforted and cared for by Autumn and her works are varied and beautiful. Like her other sisters, Autumn is a painter and she loves the colors of fire. Her gown is golden, her long auburn hair is held in place by a chaplet of colorful leaves and as she walks across the landscape she paints with broad strokes until the entire world is ablaze with oranges, reds and golden yellows.
Autumn’s chief responsibility is to prepare the world for Winter’s long sleep. She spends her time settling us all down and she does this by gently telling our wild neighbors that the hour is late and it is time to go home. The first to leave are the warblers and their absence is keenly felt. Where once there had been a riot of activity that had been encouraged by Spring and Summer, there is now a quiet that permeates the land. Then the flycatchers disappear, heading back to their homes in the tropics like I used to head home when, as a child, I heard the dinner bell ring. Yes, I kid you not. My mother had a huge iron triangle that hung by the back porch and it would ring so loudly and distinctly that we children could hear it from a great distance.
Autumn is the governess that sets the mood for bedtime. She distracts us with gorgeous colors while simultaneously calming the world around us. The birds have gone quiet and now only a few slow crickets sing as the days get shorter and shorter. Autumn is slowing dimming the lights and softly humming a lullaby as she tends to her chores. It is a soothing ceremony that we are all familiar with.
After a wonderful party, say for Thanksgiving or Christmas, the guests slowly take their leave and the candles are blown out one by one.
Like candles, Autumn first sets the trees ablaze with color and then she slowly blows them out by making their leaves fall to the ground. And just as the wondrous perfume of candle smoke lingers in the air after they have been blown out, so too does the intoxicating aroma of freshly fallen leaves permeate the atmosphere after they have fallen. There is something about that smell that is just as powerfully delicate as Summer’s scent of rain on hot pavement. It permeates the soul and evokes wonderful memories of all past experiences during Autumn’s seasonal reign.
By the time Autumn is finished, most of the world will be snugly tucked in for a long and restorative sleep. The lights have dimmed, the colors have faded and the noises of our neighbors slowly abate until we find ourselves drowsy and comfortable. Fires are lit, the intoxicating scent of wood smoke drifts on the still evening air and all the while Autumn is the choreographer of this transition to quiet.
She distracts us with such a deft hand that we are often surprised to find that the world has changed so dramatically in such a short time. But by the time we realize what has happened it is too late and we drift off to sleep and dream of what might come next.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 25 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more in formation visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or head over to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.