What’s better than a cozy cup of tea as the leaves fall? PHOTO CREDIT: Matt Fabrizio
It is a time of bitter black coffee and brisk boisterous winds; a time of sweet cinnamon and warm smiles; a season of comfort.
Despite September’s insistent sun and sticky air, last week’s bouts of rain and wind jump-started my excitement and yearning for the autumn season.
As soon as the weather begins to dip below 60 degrees Fahrenheit, I unpack my wool sweaters and corduroy, begin my annual rewatch of “Gilmore Girls” and wait for the atmosphere of autumn to perfume the rest of the East Coast.
I am equipped with a closet full of earth-toned long sleeves, a Spotify furnished with playlists about colorless leaves and a heart built in the shape of the moon. My room holds a freshly-tuned acoustic guitar and five-too-many crocheted cardigans. If you couldn’t tell, fall is kind of my thing.
This season of pumpkin chai and almond scones is what inspires me to not view life at face value. After all, if a time characterized by dying foliage and dimmed sunlight has the potential to bring such contentment, then life must have plenty more in store for us.
In a few short weeks, the maple and oak trees will paint the skyline in new hues, from fresh greens to a mixture of buttery yellows, ashy oranges and muddy reds.
During this season, fallen leaves decorate lonely asphalt roads and signs advertising pumpkin patches hang loosely from wooden poles. The barren tree branches reach out to the sky for a hug. It is an effortless reconstruction of life.
Marking the gradual end of another year, the months of September through November start a process of reinvention. Colors fade and disappear, trees shed and dance naked in the wind and patches of sunlight illuminate an expanse of muddled color.
Within these months, our little world becomes a blank canvas for memories and experiences.
As a child, the autumn season meant trying out timeless fall recipes– complete with a dollop of chunky pumpkin puree, a sprinkle of all-spice and gently folded-in butterscotch chips. My first memories in the kitchen were helping my mom invent different ways to break-in our new standing mixer, and I still dream about wiping off crumbs of brown sugar cinnamon from my chin.
Growing up, I cherished my fall-themed candles and chased their warmth and glow down to the end of their wicks. If I close my eyes, I can smell the underlying aromas of “White Marshmallow Honey” and “Apple Cinnamon Cobbler,” and if I focus harder, I can feel the faint blaze of their flames.
Now, as the moon dangles amidst our chilled starry air, crisp winds and pumpkin spice intertwine. I still find comfort in the season that brought me my favorite TV shows, I have yet to let go of my embarrassingly-complicated cookie recipes and I will forever have a love for the first signs of changing scenery.
The decay of a stunning summer is not something to mourn, but a process to cling to. Autumn shows us that there is serenity in change and beauty in the absence of extravagance.