Apricot, burgundy, sunshine gold, rust. Autumn is such a drama queen. It’s impossible to ignore it. A bush that has been invisible for most of the year in its drab, green sameness jumps out of hiding wearing a coat of flaming red. No summer garden in full flower can even compete against a maple tree with its orange crown or a golden yellow ginko against a robin’s egg blue sky.
The autumn chill, though, is starting to invade my bones. It’s not just the incessant rain that brings on a creeping cold and dread of winter. No, the chill originates inside as much as out. My feet hurt. My knees ache. My shoulder doesn’t want to rotate like it should. If I sit in one place for too long my back moans. I feel my own autumn coming on.
I’m an autumn child. Born in this season of extravagant colors I feel the energy that they imbue. As another birthday peeks around the corner, beckoning me forward into the unknown, I do sense my own “chlorophyll” slowing down. The green of my summer is disappearing little by little. However, I’ve stored copious amounts of anthocyanin and carotenoids over my life. These are the stuff that bring on the intensity of the fall. As my own sun starts to hang a little lower over the horizon I want to burst forth in brilliant rainbows of golds and oranges and reds. I plan on hanging tightly to the tree limb until the last possible moment and then drift slowly down the street on an autumn wind until I gently settle on the ground to decompose and provide food for the next generation of trees.
Trick-or-treating in Dijon, 2007. The children (some in costumes, some not) travel from store to store in search of bonbons
Dijon is in full flower until the deepest of winter. "Trees" of mums in autumn colors decorate every public intersection and often cascade to the ground
Visit the comments box and tell us what season you identify the most and why.