Prose Poem: The Arrival of Autumn

To Autumn

By Dave Hood

Another summer has departed, only memories now. As time journeys onwards, will we remember, both the joys and sorrows, or will the summer that’s past be like a boring novel, whose title we can no longer recall?

Another autumn has arrived. In a few days, we’ll turn the page of the calendar–to October. Soon, we’ll change from summer shorts, cotton shirts, and sandals, into woollen toques or caps, down-filled jackets, lined gloves of winter attire. We’ll each have choices to make, as autumn alters our surroundings and consciousness.

Shortly autumn will become like a painter, slowly transforming the landscape canvas into an abstract of Crimson, orange, yellow. Will we take time to savour its artistry?

Without much warning, the temperature will descend, the cool wind will blow, the leaves will turn, begin to fall, flutter and carpet the frosted lawns and woods and man-made sidewalks and streets.

While raking the fallen remnants of spring and summer, cutting the lawn with the mower for the final time, will we feel the cool air invigorating our bodies or choose to grumble about these yearly rituals?

Will we take a stroll, inhale the musky fragrances of the season?

Will we stop and observe—bare witness to the geese flying south, as if gesturing goodbye?

Will we purchase and taste the sweetness of the freshly picked apples from harvest?

Will we listen to the decaying leaves crunching under our boots and cool breeze rustling the maple leaves?

Will we became like children again, dress up in costumes that embody our dark side, or dream, or hero, for a few hours on Halloween? On thanksgiving, will we spend time with our elderly parents, give thanks for the scrumptious turkey dinner and another day of life?

As autumn journeys toward winter, will we ponder the symbolic meaning of the season? Like spring and summer and winter, autumn reminds us that everything changes, nothing remains the same. It’s about letting go, balancing light and darkness. It reminds us of the arrow of time—that everything ages and decays.

Will we take the time to sit in solitude, or awaken to our senses, allow the sea of glorious hues speak blissful words to us, allow the season to move us spiritually?

Or will we ignore the simple wonders, fleeting delights, and epiphanies of being alive this autumn? Instead be fixated on the future-something that can never be known. Be lost in thought–distracted by a deadline, tormented by worry, overwhelmed by responsibilities.

Or worse, will you live each day of this fall season like a walking corpse or the dead and buried? The choice is yours. You must decide how to live your “precious life.”

About Dave Hood

Lover of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction. Professional photographer and writer. Without the arts, life would be rather mundane, like a walk down the same old path on a dull day.
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