Tuesday, October 11, 2011

October


“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” -Steve Jobs
                Perhaps all of us who live in an area blessed by seasons experience a heightened awareness in the month when the last traces of summer green transform into a panoply of fall color. The mists of spring and the haze of summer are long gone and the crystalline quality of the air invites us to look, to notice, to see farther. October brings the first hints of winter, and Nature, acutely aware of the inevitable, busies herself in preparation. Bees work harder to bring in the last vestiges of sustenance to see them through the gray months. Birds, squirrels and chipmunks gather with intensity and purpose. Snakes are on the move; sluggish on cooler days, cranky and dangerous in the heat, they seek that buried place that will shelter them from the winter chill.
                It may be that the approach of Halloween and All Saint’s Day inspires during this month an enhanced appreciation for the past, for the departed, for that which is mysterious and ghostly and unknowable. The changing seasons are a powerful metaphor for the passage of time in our own lives, and the awareness of our own passing will influence us whether we are conscious of it or not. The ant in us will work harder; the grasshopper will sing louder. Those of us approaching the October of our own calendar will sip the last of the summer wine with more care and appreciation than we did when we devoured the intoxicating days of spring. We mirror Nature as we harvest the efforts of summer and try to preserve the seeds of the future, and like the colors of autumn, we can demonstrate the most extraordinary beauty in the fall of our lives, just before the cycle of life turns toward the chill of winter.