Autumn Leaves-Miles Davis


When writers can't write, we're either feeling too much, or too little, or perhaps both. A friend once suggested to me that we fight our mind, not the blog post or paper that we can't/don't want to write. My mind won this battle, and here's what's on it.

Every year, I wait for autumn to arrive. Some people complain about it because it's the end of summer, which means back to school, back to the everyday. It's a transition period, end of summer, beginning of winter; death transitioning into a death. But I just don't buy it. To me there is something so beautiful about the way the leaves die. Who knew death could be so pretty? There is a certain scent to the air, something so natural, and so poetic about how some trees change before others, but they all seem so insync with nature.

Maybe it's not death. Maybe, it's just a new season. New season means buying new clothes (or realizing last seasons just don't fit anymore), breaking out scarves and ice scrapers, revisiting somewhere you know you've kinda been before, but for some reason, the novelty is still there every time it comes around. Novelty can be scary, but somehow, you survive every season (especially if you live in the Northeast and have 4-wheel drive, pyscho analyze that anyway you please).

However, this year, I'm excited and terrified, but isn't that the way it always goes? My circle of friends is becoming one of those connect the dot games in the Sunday paper, which is the part I'm terrified of because I was never very good at those games. But instead on a filmsy grey page, these dots will be located in some of the coolest cities in the country, so I suppose I could give that game another try. School should be interesting, I'm enrolled in classes for which I don't even understand the title (metaphysics?!). So I'm both excited to find out what the means, and terrified of the repercussions. Either way, I'll take it.

The point is, these new seasons, or chapters of our lives don't have to be as frightening as we make them out to be. We also shouldn't treat them like chapters in a really good book, where we rush through them to get to the end because we want to know what happens. Sure, some of the chapters of such a good book may drag (i.e. Tale of Two Cities - sorry Charlie), but there is something still so anapestic about how it all eventually comes together. Some of the seasons of our life may be better, worse, harder, easier, sober, drunk, fast, or slow. But life is not a book, and you can't jump ahead to the last chapter, so you might as well enjoy the one you're in the middle of.