falling fall

Two years ago I wrote about seeing leaves falling from a window, followed by a recognition of fall. And today there was a deja vu moment when I saw the same colors and motions through a window, while a cutting breeze shot through an open door, and I suddenly re-realized fall, circa 2011, New York, where grass and trees are seldom around, let alone seen.

For me, fall is so much more complicated than simple summer, which consists only of lush greens and constant chaos. Fall, on the other hand, has varying paces, temperatures, and colors, a blanket of melancholic calm that is both welcome and deflating…

For our ancestors who reaped, fall was probably much simpler, both rewarding and inviting of work. We the privileged, (circa 2011, New York) must deal with an existential crisis borne because we reap nothing at all. Occupiers have sprang up in this appropriate season, perhaps feeling an agitation to match nature, who has produced rich, multi-colored beauty, while we circle on bleak, grey concrete, fighting against fall falling upon us, fighting to deserve its scarlets and golds.

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