It's Official!

The Fall has arrived. As of this morning, the Fall has arrived. Even though the days continue to be warm, the temperature fell below 60º F last night. And according to this week's projections, it will fall to 52º F for the next two nights. I am happy.

The forecast also calls for sunshine, always a welcome accompaniment to cooling autumn days. Cheryl Wheeler sings:

When Fall comes to New England
The sun slants in so fine
And the air's so clear
You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine

The nights are sharp with starlight
And the days are cool and clean
And in the blue sky overhead
The northern geese fly south instead
And leaves are Irish Setter red
When Fall comes to New England

When Fall comes to New England
And the wind blows off the sea
Swallows fly in a perfect sky
And the world was meant to be

When the acorns line the walkways
Then winter can't be far
From yellow leaves a blue jay calls
Grandmothers walk out in their shawls
And chipmunks run the old stone walls
When Fall comes to New England

The frost is on the pumpkin
The squash is off the vine
And winter warnings race across the sky
The squirrels are on to something
And they're working overtime
The foxes blink and stare and so do I

'Cause when Fall comes to New England
Oh I can't turn away
From fading light on flying wings
And late good-byes a robin sings
And then another thousand things
When Fall comes to New England

Oh. My. Vishnu.

I was introduced this past weekend to a new vocalist: Matt Alber. I cannot say enough good things about him, about his voice, about his songs (in his debut album, "Hide Nothing").

The fifth song on the album is called "End of the World". Without exaggeration of any sort, I can honestly say that since I first heard the song on Sunday morning (and this is Tuesday morning), I have listened to it over and over about 100 times. Possibly more. I cannot keep myself from listening to it. I am sure that there are many reasons why. Possibly because barely two months have passed since I left a relationship of almost two years with someone I loved. Possibly because my heart aches at this loss, not to mention the loss of other boyfriends and good friends in my past. Possibly because I am feeling alone and a little adrift at this point in my life, and this song focuses that sorrow, distills it and pours it out in such lyrical phrases as "Don't you want to fall/ Don't you want to fly/ Don't you want to be dangled over the edge of this aching romance?" and "If it's gonna end then I want to know that we squeezed out every moment".

Truly heartbreaking. But in a good way, a reaffirming way. What is being reaffirmed, you ask? Love. The Pursuit of Happiness. Life.

Add me to the list of people who have fallen hopelessly in love with these songs. And - for a moment - with Matt Alber himself.

Check out his website and you can listen to the songs. www.mattalber.com/matt.htm

Summer 2010

I am fixing my eyes on Alaska. For my summer escape. I spent five formative years of my childhood there, from 1971 to 1976, in Fairbanks. I recall well the drive from the lower 48 up the Al-Can Highway, then just a dusty, bumpy path through the wilderness. My imagination tells me that in the 21st century it must surely be paved, modern filling stations spaced every 200 miles on the edge of civilization, through parts of the map of the world that few ever get to know. Towns with names like Destruction Bay, Swift River, Yellow Knife. Names that invoke a past full of men untamed and untameable. I want to be one of those men.

Several plans have bubbled up in my conscious, the wildest and most daring being a drive from southern Georgia (where I currently reside) westward, through the plains states, into Colorado (for a first taste of wilderness) and then north through Wyoming, Montana, and into Alberta. Then I would hitch my wagon to the north star and let it lure me ever northward along the Al-Can Highway. How is it that trips through the wild inevitably lead us back to our childhood?

The Fall

I lived for two years in Australia during the early part of the century (2002 - 2004). During my time there, I found that Australians loved to poke fun at us Yanks, their jibes and taunts covering topics from how we hold (wrongly, in their expert view) our forks and knives during a meal to which words we use to describe various things. In some respects I see their point and I actually agree that the Australian way has a certain offbeat ring to it, a fun flavour, if you will. Among some examples are: "sausage sizzle" instead of "cookout" or even "barbecue"; "knackered" instead of "exhausted"; or (one of my true favourites): "a dog's breakfast" instead of "a total mess".

One meek little word that was often the object of their derision was the rather unassuming 'fall'. As in the season of the year, what they would call 'autumn'. This is where I must rise up in defense of our Yankee words and draw a line in the lexical sand.

It is possible that most Australians - and surely their British counterparts who join in on the verbal bashing - fail to see the poetry at work in the word. Allow me to explain.

For starters, I like to call it The Fall. Not merely fall. By including the definite article (the) and placing the word in capitals, this time of year becomes an Event. Like Christmastime. Or the World Cup. By writing it in lower case 'f', the word loses its poetry, its majesty. Even the quotidian likes of the days of the week are graced with capital letters. So why not this (I would argue) most majestic of seasons?

No one makes a special trip to Vermont to sit in a forest and experience the leafless trees draped in snow. No one plans a vacation or even a long weekend to behold the splendour of New Hampshire in the summer because its summer. It is the Fall, ablaze with colour, that draws us in, beckons us like pilgrims to a holy place.

All beauty, by its very nature, is transient. A thing to behold today but likely faded tomorrow, like Robert Herrick's old poem, "To the virgins to make much of time", tells us:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

We could change the words to read:

Drink in the colours while ye may,
Old Winter is come a-calling:
And these same leaves that blaze to-day
To-morrow will be falling.

One last blaze of glory before the leaves fall. A mass gathering of colours that lasts about three weeks at which time begins the Falling of the Leaves. The Fall. It's a wonderfully active word. I can see each leaf stem detaching itself from its branch and beginning its slow and zigzagging but inexorable descent to the earth. And this leaf is not alone. There are millions, billions. As countless as the stars.

'Autumn' is a fine word, and one that I like very much. It's an attractive word with its austere pairing of 'au' and silent final 'n'. But it's just not The Fall.