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.