Though I love autumn and the fall of leaves, at the same time something in me rebels. Even as I think, “I don’t want to miss their turning,” part of me just wants it to be over. Somehow, like life itself, autumn in its beauty and drama can be just too much. But maybe I need to learn something from the leaves.
Hilaire Belloc often puts to words sentiments I had not realized I was feeling. “At this peculiar time, this week (or moment) of the year, the desires which if they do not prove at least demand—perhaps remember—our destiny, come strongest. They are proper to the time of autumn, and all men feel them.” It is consoling to think that others too feel such desires—especially since these desires can bring with them fear, and loneliness.
From a philosophical viewpoint, Belloc’s reasoning is sound, and even consoling. Such profound yearning in our heart really does demand that there be something that corresponds to it in reality. A desire so strong, so all-encompassing, so enduring is truly a remarkable thing; it stands out, or rather makes us stand out in dramatic distinction from everything else in the world around us.
It can also be quite painful because such desire has a strong element of not-now, not-yet; it seems to highlight what-it-is-not-there in our life even as it points to something that can be there.
And so the leaves change color, fade, and drop; this, as we go about our way, feeling that their drama of fruition and beauty intertwined with weakness and dying is very much our drama too. We strange mortals—doomed to die yet called to life. Life and death are locked in a struggle, never the one without the other.
But lo, is this struggle between life and death not in fact a dance? A dance of lovers. Well-choreographed by the one who invites us into it. Never forcing, always offering; and encouraging; even pleading. And most importantly leading. If we will but follow.
And so the leaves “sidle on their going downward, hesitating in that which is not void to them, and touching at last so imperceptibly the earth with which they are to mingle, that the gesture is much gentler than a salutation, and even more discreet than a discreet caress.” In their very falling, certainly no free-fall, the leaves—though it might not seem so–are gently guided (even caressed?) to where they belong and can come to rest.
What a gift it is this time of year to realize how much we have in common with the leaves. ~ ~ ~
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A thought from the steading:
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The dance, the struggle between life and death, has been on my mind since childhood (I’m deep into my 7th decade now), and the changing leaves are always a reminder. I’ve come, however, to appreciate it differently. The color change shows how spectacular creation is; the leaves falling, is a sign of creation allowing in more light as daylight shortens. Yes, the ensuing winter can be glum at times but, by then, the daylight is increasing and nature will soon explode once more with new life. I suppose I’ve decided to enjoy the dance instead of watching it from the sideline.
Thank you for sharing this, Bob. I really like the image of joining the dance rather than watching.
Fall reminds me that there is beauty in approaching death.
Wisdom, very simply put. Thank you.
To steal a few lines from a curious rock band of the late 60s/early 70s. “The white eagle of the north is flying over head, and the browns, reds and gold of autumn lie in the gutter, dead. Came to witness springs new hope born of leaves decaying.” An echo of Belloc, perhaps. But certainly these impressions echo through the years of my adolescence, young adulthood, into the present where my gray beard “is the crown glory.” In my case I still have a bit of work to do to earn the crown as I meander down the path of righteousness at least that is my prayer that I am on that path. In any case, given my genetics I will be completely bald before the hair on my head is gray. So the gray beard will have to suffice.
Every time I drive into town shortly after sunrise on a crisp, New Hampshire autumn morning, I can’t help but recall some of my favorite lines from CS Lewis’ Weight of Glory: “We do not want merely to SEE beauty though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it […] At present, we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of the morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendors we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get IN.” For me, there has always been something about the drama of autumn which reawakens that old familiar ache which Lewis describes.