Autumn Song

Autumn is here, the days are far shorter than the were, there is a chill in the air at nightfall, the starlings gather in their masses, twisting and turning in the air - hundreds of individuals acting nearly as one.

I love fall. It brings back warm memories, it is the last of the pleasant weather before the plunge into the bitter cold of winter. Like the autumn of life, the light is different, less harsh, though the bones begin to sense the coming cold, yet the warmth of the sun still caresses one's cheek.

Pumpkins in a field, the bright orange against the damp soil. The moon hanging low on the horizon, a wisp of smoke from a distant fireplace, the smells of autumn can overwhelm the senses at times.

When my maternal grandmother was in hospital after a stroke some years back, we visited her in Vermont on a lovely fall day. Though bedridden and unable to speak, the gleam in her eye when I mentioned the turning leaves made me realize - while life yet lasts, enjoy every moment.

When we left the hospital, night had fallen, it had rained while we were visiting. All around I could hear the wetness dripping from the trees, see the leaves fluttering down. I could smell the leaves which had fallen earlier in the week as they returned to the soil, an odd smell, a curious smell. Not the smell of death, but still the smell of life, a past life perhaps, lingering in the nostrils even as life draws to a close.

The violin is the perfect instrument for autumn, no long sob, but a joyful lilt. And what better poet for autumn than Robert Frost?

October by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

To-morrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow,

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know;

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away;

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

Peace be with you...

Enjoy this, while it lasts.