Open Writing

My first introduction to 'autumn' came from a poem in my first grade Royal Reader which began with:

'The autumn winds are sighing,
Sighing in the trees;
The ripened corn is waving,
Waving in the breeze . . . '

I had to use a whole lot of imagination to relate to the imagery, since I was used to roaring gales in the hurricane season, and boisterous kite-flying winds during Easter; as for corn waving in the breeze, the ragged patches of what I later came to realize was cattle corn growing in small vegetable gardens, the object of nightly incursions of thieving rats and mongooses, hardly qualified as material for poetry. But the rhythm of the poem was quite appealing, and as children, we belted it out with great gusto as we sat on wooden benches in the old schoolhouse.

When I came to Canada as a young woman, I discovered the glorious reality of autumn, and even after all this time, I still enjoy the extravagant beauty of the season. The flaming colours of the landscape, the vast array of fruit and vegetables, the crystal coolness in the air and the willful abandon of leaves flying every which way, never fail to excite me. It's my favourite time of the year.

Life seems to take on an added dimension in autumn—in the fall, as we say in Canada. Gone are the frivolity of summer, and the frenzied growth of spring. September and October usher in the seriousness of study, of planning, of tackling new projects. Getting out my fall coat from the closet makes me think of books and classes and time-tables, immersing me in childhood memories. The anxiety of moving up into another grade at school. The smell of new shoes, and the challenge of breaking them in. My mother complaining of how quickly my hemlines were receding above my knees, dangerously compromising the modest image she so diligently tried to instill in me.

I feel rather fortunate that I can now indulge my penchant for study at this the beginning of the school year. On my own terms. I have ordered the books for my upcoming course, and I look forward to meeting old friends and getting involved again. I can inject some new life in my social activities. Travel someplace. It's all that electricity in the air that's spurring me on. And being in charge of my own hemlines. Well, not exactly. While I do not bow to the dictates of fashion, I am very respectful of the weather, and not averse to bundling up against the cold.

My summer clothes are well into the back of the closet. The annual ritual of replacing light pastels with deep rich earth tones has already taken place. I like the soft protective feel of warm clothing, their sturdy texture, their comforting bulk. I find myself admiring the display windows in the department stores with their tasteful arrangement of fall colours, and I am often tempted to buy something for the sheer pleasure of it. But I hang on to my old pair of running shoes. They are comfortable and familiar, never mind that the laces are starting to fray. Perhaps one of these days I might buy a new pair, but with some regret. Because even though breaking them in is not the painful exercise it used to be when I was growing up, we still have to develop a relationship. They have to be introduced to the peculiarities of my aging feet.

So let the winds sigh, and the corn ripen—autumn is a wonderful time of the year. With much to do. There's Thanksgiving, and Halloween, and yes, Christmas and all the madness that go with it. And the first snowfall of the year.

© Lytrice Adams