I never understood celebrating the new year on the 1st of January. I’m not alone, once upon a time, the new year began on my birthday—April 1st. Fitting, I think, I mean it is all about ME isn’t? Sill, I don’t care much for celestial positioning explanations. What’s a 5 million miles of distance between friends. No, if it was up to me, we’d pick a different start point. I would choose Autumn as the beginning.
I’ve considered the reasons for these thoughts. A way to the proper argument for an Autumn New Year. Perhaps after all the summer extroversion, the cooler weather welcomes in a quieter time for introspection. Maybe images of the “harvest” are one of Jung’s archetypical symbols that make me think of harvesting my own dreams. Perhaps it was formed in a New England upbringing—when all that green retreats to reveal beneath it, life’s true and balanced pallet of rich colors.
I believe life is pondered in the seasons and for me, Autumn is a time of reflection, when my creativity becomes as colorful as the foliage. Blogging is a season too. As the summer months fade, readers and writers again return to their books, words, and computers. Bonds of friendship and communication re-established. Old arguments revived, new ideas shared, laughter and community rise to warm the approaching chill of winter.
Perhaps it is all in my head. I am a writer not for the love of the writing, but because of the undeniable desire to describe and to ascribe meaning to the things of this world. Because there is enchantment in the dance of words as they seek to explain the “splendour in the grass.”
So this is my New Year.
A time when the days grow shorter and my dreams grow longer. As the Sun again fades from intense summer light to the golden companionship of Autumn, I too begin my own cycle. A personal harvest of the past, inspiration to prepare the fields and lay the foundation for the spring. To weave a warm blanket of hope and determination for the beautiful crystalline winter nights. Autumn, tucked between beginnings and endings, is a mirror and a pane of glass. A reflection of the roads traveled and a window to the journey ahead.
Perhaps Autumn is the spirit of adulthood. A place between our fiery summer youth and the twilight of our winter solstice. A place to stand, not in years, but in experience. Content with how things have gone, anxious to journey further into the beautiful possibilities that still lay ahead. Perhaps it all because I am not willing to see life as a job, or a place, or a collection of events, or any single thing. Perhaps I want to believe life is a whirlwind of swirling and colorful leaves. Each a story adrift for a moment on the breeze—your story, my story, our story. Falling softly to the earth, not to die, but to be absorbed into the world and spring forth on another day to dance once again.
Yes, that’s why Autumn is my New Year—because life is never more beautiful than when we discover that it is a glorious but short ride on this fast machine.
O’ blissful Autumn path whose golden light reveals
my perfect imperfection in its quiet harvest
so many beautiful blessed and painful moments
each spills over with warm laughter and tears.
O’ comfort in that temperate weather of emotion
between those uncertain fires of summer’s passion
Yet safe still from winter’s icy tomb
A perfect moment of sunset to enjoy.
A reflection so much clearer than the past’s
Who captures with such keen perception
The true and wonderful things that drew
These proud lines of experience upon my peaceful brow.
For Autumn laughs gently at spring’s impatient birth
And at summer’s blinding sun
As it reveals beneath all that green
Life’s true and balanced pallet of rich colors.
O’ peaceful Autumn path who moves with silent comfort
And hears not regretful verse nor see’s lost things –
That which ‘could be’ or ‘might be’ fondly remembered but
never exchanged for all that has been.