September 18, 2022
By Arthur H. Gunther III
In a September-near-fall when colored leaves drop in nostalgic scent, some of us can forget the crazy world of war, death, climate, challenged democracy. Some don’t have the luxury since they are caught up in what is not working, what is frightening.
It has been so every just-pass-summertime throughout history, of course, even worse than in 2022. So there is hope.
The autumns of my own life are now many, and there is luxury in that, for there is memory of getting apples and peaches and cider from the old farm stands, the long-gathered scent of aged beams inside, the free apple barrel, the fill-it-yourself cider that must be drank before it hardens. Or not.
In youth, there is chasing fallen leaves on sidewalks after the high school football games. A bit later in life, if you are lucky, there is the trip in the early evening chill to your girlfriend or boyfriend and sitting together warmly on a couch wondering what the future holds. If it does.
There is the restart of school and the rush to grow up, the latter regretted in later life. Why the speed of youth? We wish we were there again.
Lovers of the warm, the heat of summer, regret the move to fall, and some relocate to states where there is nothing but the hot season. As is their choice.
Not among them, I choose to grab the flannel shirt hanging too long in closet, seeing breath on chilly mornings, no longer looking forward to snow and its danger but instead thankful that in a crazy world there still is – for some – the briskness of an autumn day. It’s a visit with an old friend. We walk together.
The writer is a retired newspaperman.
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