Welcome Back, Autumn, My Old Friend ~ Reflections on the Season of My Contentment

There is something deeply soothing about the arrival of autumn in New England, where the change in seasons seems to paint the very soul of the landscape. It’s like the land itself exhales after summer’s heat, settling into a quieter, more reflective mood.

When I was a boy, growing up in Boston, I welcomed autumn like an old friend. The heat would ease, and the streets would cool. Suddenly, everything seemed to shift, as if the world was telling you to slow down and take it all in.

It’s a season of poetry in the air, when the wind carries the faint scent of wood smoke and the trees burst into a symphony of golds, reds, and oranges.

The fall also invites quiet reflection…and, in the heyday of my youth, I would always accept the invitation. It reminded me of Robert Frost’s famous lines ~ "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both” ~ and that, in a way, autumn itself was that crossroads ~ a pause before winter sets in when you couldn’t help but look around and take stock.

So, as the Octobers of my youth rolled around, the road I traveled…to take stock…like an annual pilgrimage, led me to Concord and Walden Pond, places that felt timeless, where Henry David Thoreau once found his own peace in nature. He captured the spirit of the season in his reflections on nature and existence in Walden:

"I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite—only a sense of existence."

So, in a Thoreau kind of way, I’d sit by the water and just listen. The world felt slower there, like everything was in perfect rhythm. It was all serenity, a place where nature had a way of putting things in perspective.

The autumnal roads I traveled beyond Boston…to New Hampshire or Vermont…were lined with towering oaks and maples, their leaves swirling in the breeze like forgotten dreams. The blazing colors seemed to echo the fire of summer while whispering the cool promises of winter.

And then, I’d be back to Boston ~ savoring moments of contemplation while walking through the Public Gardens or wandering the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill and the North End or strolling along the Charles River.

Autumn in Boston is a celebration of the senses ~ a poem of the earth that touches all the senses. It calls to mind the past while grounding us in the present. The cool breezes off the Atlantic, combined with the historic charm of the city, create a feeling that is both timeless and immediate. There is the sense of being part of something ancient, a ritual of renewal that has been witnessed for centuries, yet it feels personal, as if the season turns just for you.

Autumn in Boston, however, has never been just about beauty, though it has plenty of that. It’s also about a certain melancholy, the bittersweet knowledge that these vibrant colors wouldn’t last. And, that’s what makes them so special.

I remember vividly how, walking through the city in October, I couldn’t help but feel part of something bigger ~ part of a cycle that had played out for centuries. The trees would soon be bare, the streets quieter, but for those few weeks, the place felt alive in a way that was impossible to ignore.

I’ve always liked Albert Camus’ line: "Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." That’s how it felt in Boston ~ like everything was in bloom again, an opportunity for renewal, even though the year was winding down. It was a reminder that even as things come to an end, there’s still beauty to be found.

Another New Englander, the transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson, spoke words that always ring true in this time of year: "Nature always wears the colors of the spirit." In autumn, Boston wore…and wears…those colors proudly, a city bathed in golds and reds, glowing with a warmth that is both familiar and unforgettable.

So, I say, welcome back, Autumn, my old friend ~ September 22^nd, 2024.