Autumn has many delightful facets. I love it’s rich colour palate, and it’s warm remnants of summer, it’s harvests and final blooms before sliding slowly towards the colder, darker winter. I like tights and cardigans. I like soups and stews where salads had grown tired.
|Photo by my Mum|
I feel maybe I am heading into my own Autumn. I know traditionally the ‘Autumn of your life’ refers to old age, and I am not quite at that point yet, but for me old age should be winter, with its snowy hair and knitting by the fire. If Spring is your childhood, and Summer is your prime, perhaps Autumn is the rich period of life that kicks in somewhere around forty. A time when we reap our finest fruits, and settle in the calm netherworld between the high jinks of youth and the frailty of old age.
I am not sure what makes me feel I am changing season.
It could be the happy acceptance of Syd as my last baby. I may not be knocking on menopause’s hormonal door quite yet, but am content that my family is complete. There is a certain poignancy to his growing, knowing this is the last time I will make this particular journey as a parent. But there is no heartache attached to it, I feel blessed to have grown three babies, and have no need for more.
It could be seeing my Daughter on the edge of adulthood. At seventeen she is about to enter the dizzy hot days of her personal Summer. She is is bright and new and fresh, heading into fullest flower with everything ahead of her. Seeing her youth makes me yearn for mine, but only a little.
It could be losing my Grandfather. He was my last remaining grandparent and with him gone we all take a step up the generational ladder. I am one rung higher up the family tree, and my own parents are now the at the top. Perhaps no longer being someone’s grandchild makes me recognise the passing of my own years too.
I have no objection to heading into Autumn. It may not have the thrill of Summer, but is still replete with fireworks and vivid colour. I am not yet done with my bloom, it is just crinkling and browning at the edges, age adding a characterful dimension. I think I will like it here, and plan to loiter in it’s warm afternoons for some considerable time before I let the chill of winter into my already creaking bones.