Early Autumn
- Anne Smith
- Oct 30
- 4 min read
"When an Early Autumn walks the land and chills the breeze, and touches with her hand the summer trees, perhaps you'll understand what memories I own." ("Early Autumn", 1952. Music by Ralph Burns and Woody Herman, lyrics by Johnny Mercer).
I was in upstate New York and Vermont very recently. On my flight north, I overheard two disgruntled leaf-peepers discussing the lack of vibrant foliage this year, due to a long drought over the summer. The conversation continued as they speculated that the drought would affect maple syrup production as well as the snow for ski season. I felt like sticking up for Mother Nature. Does she actually owe us splendid panoramic views bursting with supersaturated autumn colors? Are we so entitled that we can demand maple syrup and snow, whenever and however we want it? Have we been indoctrinated by AI to such a degree that anything IRL seems "less than"?
The leaves might have seemed dull to the leaf-peepers, but as I walked to my car at the long term parking lot that night, they crunched so satisfyingly under my boots, releasing that heady damp-earth fragrance that I've always loved. I scuffled through them, shivering but exhilarated, pulling my corduroy coat more tightly around me. Overhead, filmy grey clouds snagged on the crescent moon and broke like cobwebs, drifting away. As a musician, my interior world is in constant song, playing in a never-ending loop as a soundtrack to my exterior observations. Autumn themed music filled my mind with a fantabulous clash of genres as I walked- Ella Fitzgerald, Vivaldi, Van Morrison- and it somehow made perfect sense, 'neath the cover of October skies'.
Living in Florida for all these years has created in me an appreciation for the minute details and nuances of every season, details that might elude someone who has lived in the north for all of their lives: The sensuous smell of the ground breathing at the first spring thaw; a robin's bright yellow beak and the broken white line around its eyes; fireflies gliding over a freshly mown summer meadow, the lush perfume of a peony and the metallic smell of ozone in the air before a thunderstorm; an autumn campfire, the fall foliage palette of all the exquisite browns, reds and yellows-leaves in burnt sienna, raw umber, red ochre, canary yellow, burgundy, some leaves still mottled with emerald green; the musty smell that the oil furnace makes, hissing and pinging when it is started up after a long time; the scent of damp woolen mittens with snow clinging to them; the runny nose of cold and flu season; the lone sound of a woodpecker tapping at a frozen tree in the winter forest; all fleeting but distinct seasonal impressions that have been embedded in my neurology and I love them all. I speak of them the way one might speak about a loved one who has passed away, memorializing every quality, good or bad. "Remember the way that the ice coated the driveway so evenly it truly seemed to be perfectly formed Chihuly glass?" "What was the name of that amazing golden weed that always made me sneeze my head off every summer?" "I thought we'd never get that adorable raccoon to leave our attic crawl space! remember how many times we called the wildlife control officer? What was his name?"
And so it goes: In the absence of what we don't have anymore, we find fault with what is and we eulogize what was. Nostalgia is perhaps the most destructive of all human artifice. The foliage isn't as impressive as last year's. We won't have any maple syrup like last year. Ski season sucks because there's no packed powder available this year.
If we could really, really know, in our bones, that whatever is happening NOW is innately how it is supposed to be, I believe we could eliminate a great deal of suffering on a personal and global level. I have to tread lightly here. Our country, our world, is hurting, certainly not perfect in the sense of "optics". We feel as if we're turned upside down and inside out. We're being deluded with AI and propaganda daily. We can't seem to find our way out. Can you think about seeing underneath what appears on the surface? Let's try, together.
We speak of America and her democracy as if she has passed away, memorializing every quality, good or bad. Nostalgia is preventing us from moving ahead, from surviving seasons of change. We are giving up her ghost, instead of knowing in our bones that very soon there will be a mighty springtime stirring of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, a collective breath of relief as America is reborn, with all of her strongest and best traits intact and strengthened for the survival of future generations.
This is not going to happen through external competition for the best, most beautiful or most powerful. It's going to happen through inward acceptance of and cooperation with the nature of now and what role you can play that will contribute to the well-being of our global citizenry within the natural world.
Until Next Time xoxoxo Annie
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