Autumn not a time of passing, but one of renewal

In literature and modern song, autumn too often engenders themes of old age and approaching death. The browning of leaves, the rising cold as winter nears, the shorter days, all make such symbolism seemingly apt.

Indeed, "Time hurries on," songwriter Paul Simon said in one of his darker compositions, "And the leaves that are green turn to brown/And they wither with the wind/And they crumble in your hand."

But as the shores along the Iowa River dress themselves in vibrant reds, oranges and purples, I suggest that autumn also is a time of discovery, a time for growth.

If one image beyond the falling leaves is weaved into autumn, it is that of returning to school. Once the textbooks have been handed out and the review of what we'd forgotten over the summer is completed during those first humid days in stiff desks, the air begins to cool and the real learning begins.

Are the rustle of leaves upon the ground like that of tattered old papers or are they the turning of pages as those still in their youth read the words of master poets, learn of great battles won and lost, and come to understand the mysteries of metamorphosis and photosynthesis?

That some find such subjects dull is anguishing, for no one should have such a frozen mind.

And while the harvesting of autumn may mark the end of the growing cycle, it also is a time of bounty. As the scent of cinnamon cider fills the air at a market, how could one not be overcome with surprise at the range of apples - Gala, Braeburn, McIntosh, Red Rome and Winesap - when from winter through summer most grocers sell just one type. There are more than 7,000 varieties of apples grown around the world, and most of us only sample four or five at best.

What of the freshness, too, of vegetables and fruits that come with autumn: the plump tomato; the zest of yellow, green and red peppers; the natural sweetness of squash. At any given farmers' market, there are yams, carrots, beans, cabbage, pumpkin, brussel sprouts and rhubarb all to sample. They provide relief from the machine-refined sugars that dull our palates through the other seasons.

Autumn is a time when we can feel most alive. After the languor of summer's heat, we rediscover our connection with the natural world. We may awake to the day shivering and by noon find as the sun shines upon us that we've overdressed for it, then a few hours later be surprised by the evening's invigorating nip.

When fall arrives, we no longer can idly slide through the day as during summer. Me must respond to in, be in concert with the changing temperatures and skies.

For those who turn a wondrous eye at Mother Nature's power, autumn charges the senses, revitalizes the spirit.

"In Algiers," philosopher Albert Camus wrote in a short essay, "one loves the commonplace: the sea at the end of every street, a certain volume of sunlight ..." To maintain an enthusiasm for life, he argued, is to experience the union of man and nature. Autumn reminds us of that path to finding peace in our hearts.

No, autumn is a time of passing and death only for the myopic and immature (Simon was but 21 when he wrote the above-quoted verse).

To those who understand its true potential, it is a hallowed season.

(originally published Oct. 5, 2003)