Fall, to me, has always felt like the beginning of the new year. Forget the awakening of spring or New Years - Fall is when I reflect, reevaluate my state of being, reset, and move forward. Time for trade ice cream for acorn squash and sandals for boots. I grow giddy at the thought of the coming crisp blue skies, scarves, and the musty smell of leaves on the ground. Get me a blanket, a hot chai, a good book and I will be a happy girl. I absolutely love fall.
Fall has a special mood for me that is paradoxically both heavy and light and the same time. Warm and cold. The Autumnal equinox. The beginning of the dark half of the year. Time to take stock of what we've got and prepare for the months ahead. Gather the harvest, revel in the beauty of nature and get everything in order before the chill of winter blows in. It's earthy, honest, pensive and grounding. And when else do you get to decorate with skeletons without catching strange glances from your neighbors?
Is it odd to find such the darkness and ominous mood so appealing? I find myself brooding over deep thoughts on life, death and purpose. I've been lulling myself in the grey music of Ray LaMontagne and Cat Power. I have abandoned some of the more superficial things in life, and refocused on relationships, learning, and being healthy. Don't worry Mom, I'm not depressed, it's just fall. I'm in it. I love this feeling. I feel revived. Back to the basics. Rooted.
But it's dark. I welcome the creepy, the gory, the heavy and emotional. I want to watch scary movies, hunt for mushrooms in the gloomy damp woods and read some Poe. Or maybe I'll read Stiff again. It's one of my favorite books ever and it's about human cadavers. I promise it's hilarious - you really should read it. Just not while you're eating.
I don't know if I can put a finger on it, but the refreshing darkness and the happy gloom of fall are creeping up and reviving me. I can feel fall almost like it's a tangible thing, but to describe all of it's complex and wonderful facets is like trying to hold tight to a fist full of sand. I thought maybe by writing about it that I could define it, but instead I feel like I just revealed myself as a moody creeper that enjoys reading about dead bodies and probably owns one too many scarves. I guess if the the shoe fits...