Autumn

Today’s post is something a little different. It’s not book-related, but a piece of creative writing.

A few weeks ago, I found such liberating comfort in writing about my favourite season. Below, you will find all the attributes I subscribe to Autumn. I must pay tribute to Louise Baker, who inspired me to write this piece. After reading how she defines the season in Autumn: An Anthology for the Changing Seasons, I knew I had to isolate myself from the world and become at one with Autumn. This is my offspring. Please be gentle – I am not used to sharing my creative writing on such a platform. I suffer from creative self-doubt, but I knew this piece would call out to a lot of you, like Cathy calls out to Heathcliff on those blustery moors. Enjoy.

Autumn.

After months of unbearable heat, of your body desperately trying to cool down from the sun’s tortuous rays, comes Autumn. The season of death. Decay. Transformation. Bitter breezes. Stuffy noses. Hibernation. New beginnings.

A season of decline. Yet one that’s full of hope.

Autumn is full of colour. The vibrant greens slowly transform to yellow, then to orange, then to red, before eventually finding comfort in the warm chocolate shade. The brilliant blue sky loses its hue, transforming into a gloomy mist that makes discerning the clouds from the sky impossible. The royal blue nights consume our once long days, filling the sky with darkness; the only colour being the odd twinkle from the shining stars. Our flowery, summer clothes are stored away, making room for the colours that epitomise our Autumn – burgundy, burnt orange, forest green and fiery red.

Autumn is full of smell. Cinnamon candles are left burning throughout the evening, adding a spicy aroma to your natural homely scent. The smell of burning logs dominate the vicinity, transporting you into the wilderness where foxes creep behind you, and hedgehogs furrow away into the ground’s abyss. Whilst carving, the pumpkin’s squash-like smell commands the room, leaving you feeling dizzy whilst you pull its insides out with your bare hands. The clean, musty smell left over from the downpour wraps around you like a comforting blanket, reminding you that the weather is no enemy.

Autumn is full of sound. The wind howls against your window, asking you to join it whilst it floats away to nothing. The fire crackles from behind its glass window, screaming for its escape; it only wants to keep you warm. It’s the breaking of a branch’s spine; the perpetrator being a wild deer who is desperate not to be seen, but is foolish enough to be heard. Autumn is the crunching of dead leaves underneath your boots. It’s the sound of rain pattering against your window, singing you a soft lullaby to ease your troubles. The turning of a page in a ghost story being the only sound to interrupt the silent and long evenings.

Autumn is full of spectacle. The sky lights up in twinkling colours from the endless displays of fireworks. The Earth’s children are dressed from head-to-toe in knitwear; bobble hats, patterned scarves, woolly gloves, thick socks and fluffy jumpers. Leaves swirl around forming a tiny tornado, desperately chasing each other to feel comfort in their crackled skin. Autumn is for gathering ’round a bonfire to watch a faux Guy Fawkes be burnt to cinders; it is a month to celebrate death. Witches, pumpkins, zombies and skeletons roam the streets looking for candy to gorge on, this is somehow normal.

Autumn is full of taste. Nothing by spice-infused drinks are consumed within the three months of Autumn as if our taste buds cannot survive without pumpkin, or cinnamon, or orange touching their delicate bumps. Autumn is for baked treats; apple pies, salted caramel, toffee apples and gingerbread do not even cover half of the indulgences. It’s the season of chocolate and sweets disguised as frightening creatures and disgusting body parts. Autumn is the taste of death creeping in through the cracks in your chapped lips. Its tastes so wonderful.

Autumn is the time for ghost stories. It’s the season to celebrate witchcraft and the end of an annual cycle. Wellington boots are found covered in cobwebs from months of neglect, but it’s finally their time; they look forward to being drowned in mud and puddles. Autumn is for being tucked up in a mountain of cosy blankets to protect you from the burning chill of the November air. Conkers are found scattered along the grass like seasoning on your dinner. It’s for binge-watching gory movies, whilst living in complete harmony. It’s for the long, cold countryside walks; the owls hoot in the background, warning you to stay alert.

Autumn is for rest. Rejuvenation. Preparation for Christmas, and the tumultuous nature of the Winter months.

But most importantly, Autumn is over too soon.

It falls away to nothing – just like it’s supposed to.

Thank you for reading, Lauren Xx