I felt fall for the first time yesterday. Fall is a hopeful time for me. I know. I know. Spring is the locus of hope, new life, planting for a year of nourishment, the resurrection… The original season of hope.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in the American educational system but, for me, new life begins when the school year starts. As a youngster, I lived in places where the first hint of autumn meant Labor Day and the start of the school year. Fresh pencils, crisp paper, books whose bindings had to be broken in – all things that pointed to a new beginning. Not to mention having a new station in life when you begin a new grade.
So I’m thinking this, however belated, breath of autumn is my season of hope. Forget spring cleaning. The time is now to get rid of the former things to make room for the new ones. I’m a year older and a grade higher. How old and how high is irrelevant. This is the time to turn a page, to open a new chapter, to break in the binding of a new book. My clothes are ironed, my hair smoothed down, my shoes shined and I am ready to begin.
We all know it doesn’t last forever. By Christmas papers will be sticking out of my notebook, the holes torn, my schedule, so meticulously managed the first two weeks will be a splatter of scratchings, and I will be slouching about in a twice worn t-shirt.
But today, today I feel fall. The energy of cool mornings and brisk evenings cast me into a season of hope. So let me go now because I want to organize my pencil case.