The view from the top of Bradbury Mountain is so beautiful this time of year--any time of year, really, but fall in particular. The foliage is almost at peak now, and everywhere you cast your eye, you see beauty. I was alone up there today, and it was my mountain and my sky and my view. It took my breath away, as it always does, but Nature went about her business, unconcerned with my spying.
There are two names for this
season: autumn and fall. Why do you suppose that is? The other seasons don’t get two names. Why does fall get two names? The Old French word for autumn was automne
(13th century), and this was taken from the Latin autumnus of earlier and unknown
origin, possibly Etruscan. The other
three seasons have evidence of their names having a common word origin across
the Indo-European languages, but not autumn.
Autumn is unique.
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| Autumn from the top of Bradbury Mountain in Maine. |
And then there is fall. Is it a fall from grace? Or toward grace? Is it a fall from beauty toward ripening and
maturing? We talk about those who are
middle-aged as being in the “autumn” of their lives, but not the fall. They are not in the “fall” of their
lives. Do we say “fall” for a simple and
obvious reason, because the leaves are all falling? It could be that simple. It could be that the fruits are all falling
from the plants and the trees. It could
be that the sun is dipping lower and lower on the horizon now. It could be that the din of life is simply
falling silent for a while.
If autumn is comparable to the
middle age of human beings, old age, then, would be the winter, which we all
know holds the secret seeds of spring.
Come, then, autumn. Fall upon me,
and when you are through with me and my colors are all worn and gray, usher me
into winter where my hidden seeds await.
