I get it.
I totally understand why people love autumn. There is the wild flaming out of the leaves against the “bruise colored clouds” before they plummet to the earth. There is the cooling relief from the summer. The fast approach of the holiday season makes everyone giddy with preparation. There is the smell of scotch tape and sharpened pencils and the familiar sight of children running up the street, freedom in their steps, on the way home from school. The apple picking, the cider, the candy corn and pumpkin carving.
I was married in the fall.
My daughter was born in the fall.
But I hate it.
Nevermind…I love fall but I hate it for one reason and one reason alone.
It is too beautiful.
I have the urge to weep almost the entire season. Something about this startling beauty reminds me that time has passed, one more year gone, and I can’t help feeling sentimental and sad. Something about this primitive burning up of the earth’s resources every year makes me feel devastated. The immanent arrival of winter with it’s bare and stark branches must come and I can’t take it.
I don’t know.
Why is twilight the loneliest time of day?
Why do people cry at the end of anything whether it be high school graduation or a funeral or the end of a really great film?
Because of the beauty.
Because they remember the beauty and are struck…in awe…of life and the fact that it happens and it is lovely and then…it’s done.
In other part of my world: Poop. Everyone does it but especially babies and especially my daughter.