BRATTLEBORO — Forget the official solstices and equinoxes and other astronomic definitions of our world and its position relative to the sun: we know in our gut and in our heart of hearts whether a new season has arrived in a meaningful manner.
For me, that watershed moment between summer and fall comes with the subtle appearance of the first yellow, orange, or red leaf on the car windshield in the morning.
That one leaf, to me, says that summer is over. It means that yesterday's perfectly normal weather becomes today's unseasonably warm. It prompts a shift in perception, a change in the lens through which we look out on our world.
We all have those indicators. For me, it's the leaf, but for others it might be the dew on the windshield on the way to work or the mist hanging low on the hills of the mountains.
For you, it might be the transition of a certain favorite tree or the availability of a certain favorite apple or a Gilfeather turnip. It could be the smell of wood smoke in the air or the burning smell of dust on the radiators coming to life for the first time in months. It could be the frosty breath in the darkening dawn.
It could be the sheer intensity of the October sun bathing southern Vermont in gold and reflecting off our ponds and rivers, turning them jet black and casting long and dark shadows.
But whatever symbolizes the beginning of fall, we know it when we see it. And whenever fall really began for us individually, we all know that the holiday weekend marks the rough midpoint of this transcendent season. For all of us, fall is here.
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I can't say that fall is my favorite season; not exactly. I can say that fall is the season that makes me most aware of the passage of time, the fragility of life, and the beauty of nature.
For students and their teachers, fall means a return to days with normal and predictable rhythms of school and new beginnings with new classes and new grades, a fresh start against the backdrop of seasonal endings. Even in middle age, I still respond to those seasonal cues.
With fall comes the countdown to winter. Spring is like a movie trailer, offering glimpses of the warmth and beauty in a world that offers long summer days and ample light. Whatever good weather comes our way, we know we have a whole season to follow.
But as time moves forward during fall, we stare down the bleak starkness of “stick season” and the too-soon arrival of late-afternoon nightfall and breath hanging in the air. For too many of us, the shortening of the days can trigger sadness and despair. For too many of us, the worries about staying warm or finding shelter, any shelter, begin to kick in.
The fiery blaze of warm colors will yield all too soon to a dreary sepia-toned countryscape and, for me, that's what makes fall special.
Every single great and glorious fall day could well be the last great and glorious fall day. We just don't know for sure until it's too late, so we had better just assume it will be. It means holding tight to the present, something that we all could stand to do more of during the rest of the year.
So a spectacular, sunny, warm-but-not-too-warm fall day is something to be cherished, held onto, nurtured, and experienced fully - preferably with golden leaves underfoot, the cell phone out of reach or out of range, and a good, crisp Vermont apple in hand, one just picked from the tree and savored contemplatively in the moment.
Enjoy your weekend, and may it be everything that we think of when we think of fall.