Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
With the final remaining cardinals) and then
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—
Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s
Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment
Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet,
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us,
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets.
And every year there is a brief, startling moment
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
It is the changing light of fall falling on us.
~Edward Hirsch, from “Fall” from The Living Fire: New and Selected Poems, 1975-2010.
This past week has been an immersion in crimson — ankle-deep and retina-full. There are falls and there are falls, but this transition has seen a transformation richer than most.
It reminds me of the autumn when I fell in love thirty-nine years ago, never to be the same me again. And the fall thirty three years ago when finally pregnant with our first child, we moved from city chaos to rural farm life, never to look back.
I’m reminded of thirty autumns of beginning academic years in my work place, new starts and new fresh faces and all their worries and concerns.
Fall changes us like the light of fall changes everything it touches. I may not be a rich crimson like the leaves around me, nevertheless I am thoroughly changed.