As the Leaves Fall

11/10/14

Aboard Metro North 522, En Route to Grand Central Terminal, Harlem Line

As the leaves fall, as we make our way to work or school or home or to see our loved ones, as we walk and bike and drive and ride the train, we look at the changing colors with wonder, the natural progression from summer to winter, the beauty that is to be found in death.  Because we have lived here all of our lives, we do not realize that we are experiencing the Eighth Natural Wonder of the World.  How can the Paricutin Volcano or the Harbor of Rio De Janeiro compare to the changing of the leaves that engulf this entire region of the world in splendid color.  The fall foliage of the northeast, one of the most remarkable annual events, from New York to New Brunswick, from Connecticut to Quebec, there can be no argument made that it is not one of the most beautiful natural phenomena in the world.

However, since we have lived here all of our lives, since we are blessed by this sight every year, since we know nothing else, we simply say, “Look how pretty.”  We may talk about how it is the most beautiful time of the year, how our small home town has come to look like a little taste of Colonial New England, but when the snow falls, as the Christmas decorations go up, we will take pictures of our town covered in snow and sing, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” and we will mean it.  We will get into the Christmas spirit and sing all the songs, decorate our houses, and when the big day comes around, we will spend the day with our families and talk about how joyous of an occasion it is.  We will then ring in the New Year, whether in our homes, at Times Square, in Quebec or Vienna, or aboard a cruise in Antarctica.  We will smoke cigars and drink champagne and sing “Auld Lang Syne” at the top of our drunken voices.  We will stumble home at 2 in the morning, and we will watch the Honeymooners until the sun comes up, or we will see what some strange new city has to offer for the New Year.  The next day will come, and we nurse our hangovers.

Then we will start to complain about the cold.  We will never complain about the snow, as we will now be saying the snowfall is more beautiful than the fall foliage ever was, but we will complain about the cold.   As the snow starts to melt, we will be glad for the warmth, trumpeting how we survived the harsh winter, saying how much we hate the winter.  Once the flowers start to bloom, once the birds start to chirp, we will talk of the wonder of spring, we will look at the trees in our garden and say that this is the most beautiful time of the year.  How could snowfall or fall foliage possibly compare to these flowering trees?  We will pot our plants and change our wardrobe and talk of how excited we are for summer.  We will plan our summer vacations and wait for school to end.

When summer comes, we will enjoy long days and, when we have dinner outside at 8:30 PM, with no need for artificial light, we will say how there is nothing like long summer nights.  We will say that the fall foliage and the snowfall and the flowering plants were nothing compared to the beauty of a summer night.  We may even travel further north, to Alaska or Canada or Greenland or Scotland or Scandinavia, where it never truly gets dark, where the sun sets at 11 PM and rises again a few hours later, leaving only twilight in its stead.  We will talk about how taking a walk at 2 AM in twilight is the most wonderful thing in the world, how the fall foliage in New England, New Year’s in Vienna, and the flowering plants in our garden cannot possibly compare to these long summer nights.

Then the leaves will fall again, and we will once more say that fall is the most beautiful time of the year.