It’s a quiet, gray Sunday in the Puget Sound, nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year. After a lazy morning, I found myself wandering onto the balcony half asleep with a brush in my hand. But then, by some stroke of luck, the clouds parted just long enough for the sun to pour through. Its light caught the autumn trees, their colors vivid against the drab parking lot below. For a fleeting moment, the world shimmered with that beauty that only autumn offers. Brief but radiant, of something almost magical.
I don’t need to paint you a picture of autumn’s colors and the splendor that comes with it. You’ve likely soaked it in yourself, and if not, Instagram has already offered you that vicarious experience, just as it does with everything else. But what I want to talk about is the feeling of autumn, something beyond the starter pack of pumpkin carving and pumpkin spice. The nostalgia that lingers in the autumn air. Just picture these fantastical lines from Patrick Rothfuss,
IT was one of those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world. The weather was warm and dry, ideal for ripening a field of wheat or corn. On both sides of the road the trees were changing color. Tall poplars had gone a buttery yellow while the shrubby sumac encroaching on the road was tinged a violent red. Only the old oaks seemed reluctant to give up the summer, and their leaves remained an even mingling of gold and green.
Patrick may be describing a fantastical world in The Name of the Wind, but those words could easily fit any path lined with autumn-colored trees. That’s the thing about fall. It simply arrives, as if the wind itself delivered the season to your doorstep with a fallen leaf. All it takes is for you to take a moment to feel the magic.
There’s beauty everywhere in fall, and it casts a new light on places you thought you knew. Like that narrow trail behind the grocery store we frequented as cash-strapped grad students. Like the small hillock that we’d walk up to take a break between assignments. Like the countless parking lots which breathe life in the brief span of peak foliage.
Autumn turns the ordinary into something worth remembering. One of those memories is the path I used to take to a coffee shop every weekend when I first moved to the Puget Sound area. The shop itself was nothing special, just the nearest spot in a large strip mall—like so many you find across the U.S. The path wasn’t much either, forgettable if it weren’t for the trees. I’d mask up, pop in my airpods, and play an episode of my go-to philosophy podcast. Occasionally, I’d stop to clear my fogged-up glasses or cross the road, but otherwise, it was a straight walk to the café. A latte, maybe a Pain au Chocolat if I was in the mood—it became part of my routine in a new place, a small comfort. The barista almost recognized me as a regular (the closest I have come so far). I had come to enjoy it so much that I forced my partner who I was then dating to take the walk with me, instead of driving over to the coffee shop. (She did not enjoy the walk in the chilling weather. But luckily it all turned out fine.)
A good two years have passed since I stopped walking those paths or visiting that coffee shop. But now that it’s fall again, the magic of the season calls me back to those memories. The coffee shop still stands, and every now and then, my autumn nostalgia tempts me to return. But I know it won’t ever be quite the same.
This article is nothing more than a moment of pause. And in that spirit, I’ll leave you with more beautiful lines from The Name of the Wind:
As he shouldered his travel sack and satchel, Chronicler found himself feeling remarkably lighthearted. The worse had happened, and it hadn't been that bad. A breeze tussled through the trees, sending poplar leaves spinning like golden coins down onto the rutted dirt road. It was a beautiful day.
