What is it I love about autumn?
Is it the syncopated falling -
an umber mirror of my life
the chronic crawling
back from a dying state,
the challenge of letting go,
hope of writing a clean slate
or is it the blessed wait
of this transition season
for the coming blast
and its harvest
of accretion?
I’ve always said that autumn is for poets. I think about how autumn is a season very reflective of the process of creation. Just like giving birth is full of pain and suffering, without it there is no new life. Just about the time we think we are in control, basking in the sun of late summer, we are thrown into a state of dying in this present season, this present reality. So in a way, autumn is a natural process of growth. The adolescent must let go of the joy of childhood. The adult must let go of the passionate soakings of adolescence. Definition of accretion - an increase by natural growth or addition, (astronomy) the formation of a celestial object by the effect of gravity pulling together surrounding objects and gases.
