I love summer. I love wearing tank tops and flip flops. I love to feel the sun on my face while getting the mail. I love to feel the wind in my hair, riding on my stepdad's boat. I love to feel the sticky skin on my boys' cheeks, as I kiss them goodnight, after a sweaty day at the pool. Summer is my favorite season. However, oddly enough, I am never sad to see it go.
There's just something about Autumn.
Autumn brings warm colors, bulky sweaters, blue jeans, and evenings with wide open windows. As a child, Autumn was synonymous with the start of school - a happy time, for me, because I loved school. This year, things have come full circle. Jackson, my oldest, started preschool and began a new phase in the lives of all of us. When he carried his book bag across the threshold of his classroom, he shook the "baby" dust off of his shoes. I have heard that mothers cry when their children start school. I did not grieve. Jackson starting school is a wonderful thing. It has been exciting for our entire household. It gets us all up and moving in the morning. It gives Henry and I some alone time. Dinnertime is filled with joyful stories of new friends and finger painting. It has been an amazing new chapter in our lives.
I have always found it interesting, that Autumn is a season that completely revolves around death. The leaves change and fall to the ground. The crunching of the dead leaves under our feet becomes the soundtrack of the Fall. People flock to corn mazes, chasing each other in and out of dead corn stalks, loving every minute of it. Neighbors fill their yards with artificial gravestones and hang skeletons from trees for Halloween. November second marks the Feast of All Souls, when we pray for those who have gone before and honor the dead. However, knowing that each Autumn from now on will signify that my boys are blooming and growing, I can look past these underlying themes.
Because for me, Fall is not about death. It's about rebirth.
Summer is over, but it will return. The flowers are drying up, but they will bloom again. My boys are getting older, but they are growing and learning and using the values and lessons that we have planted in them. Being a part of that transformation is a beautiful experience. I have come to realize that as my boys are prospering and flourishing, I am as well.
This evening, I put on a sweater and stepped out into the cool air to hang a red, gold, and orange wreath on the door. I stooped down to pull a few brown leaves off of what is left of my front porch plant and I smiled at the irony. This year, beginning a season that is shrouded in death, I have never felt more alive.
