A Pile of Leaves on Fire

Fall is highly symbolic, I think. And also highly charged in a human behavior sort of way. For me, fall is a mixed bag of colorful, rotting leaves. And maybe the pile of leaves is on fire.

It seems highly charged from where I sit - in lots of ways, actually. First, it’s metamorphic and invigorating. Everything is dying in this beautiful way that we can all get behind despite our culture’s massive fear of death. It’s a chance for us all to lean into the macabre, because it is so obviously lovely and life-giving - all of this falling and rotting and going underground that is essential to life.

Another way that fall is amped up is the way people love it, here in the states at least. People are so precious about fall - I don’t like that. The cozy aesthetic of pumpkins and cinnamon and lattes just isn’t my jam. It instantly makes me think of people dressed in sparkly sweaters happily filling their carts at Target (I’m sorry - I know that a lot of respectable, thoughtful people love Target) with “minimalist” decor they don’t need, and probably won’t find as charming a year from now. The way our culture has branded fall is just not for me.

That said...

I do love fall, but cautiously. Because the cultural aesthetic we’ve developed is off-putting to me. Because I live somewhere where it gets very cold in the winter, and fall is the harbinger of winter. Of snow. Of layers and obnoxiously photo-tagged fall flavors. Because summer is over, and I love summer and all of its trappings.

But apart from all of this (and back to the burning pile of leaves), fall is inspiring. It feels like time to hit the deck in a positive way. We just previously let our most languid selves out of their seasonal shells, taking slow summer walks in the melty heat, watching condensation form on glasses full of colliding ice and fruit and bubbles. We read books on the lawn, maybe went on a trip with our families or friends or ourselves, maybe to somewhere we had never been before. And when fall rolls around, it actually feels like time to let this sacred, sunny season lie and bring forth the new. It’s only natural. And nature is inspiring. (So is watching something burn.)

This time of year, I’m ready to button it up a bit and remember what I love about sharpened pencils and drinking hot tea in the middle of the day. I’m ready for an excuse to wear a costume as an adult, and let my kids eat as much candy as they want for a week(ish). Fall is an authentically inspiring and creative time. I’ve started my novels and most of my other longer works in the fall. I don’t see this as a coincidence, though it’s not intentional. We turn as the earth turns. Creation requires transformation.

The equinox is in two days; it’s nearly official. We are here. So whatever way fall inspires you (whether that be with its pumpkin spice lattes or its horror movies or that it’s finally Doc Marten weather), I want to leave you with this tidbit from Mary Oliver, who seemed to know the seasons better than her own skin.

An excerpt from Mary Oliver’s On Thy Wondrous Works I Will Meditate:

4.

How many mysteries have you seen in your

    lifetime? How many nets pulled

full over the boat’s side, each silver body

    ready or not falling into

submission? How many roses in early summer

    uncurling above the pale sands then

falling back in unfathomable

    willingness? And what can you say? Glory

to the rose and the leaf, to the seed, to the

    silver fish. Glory to time and the wild fields,

and to joy. And to grief’s shock and torpor, its near swoon.