Autumn Leaves//October 59th, 2020

 I promise I’ll post something less melancholy one of these days, but post-Halloween depression and the end of the autumn season bring about the more solemn memories of spooky seasons gone by.

I’m not sure when I first really started recognizing my post-Halloween depression and acknowledging how it affected me. I think it was somewhere in my pre-teen years, probably around middle school age. However, there was always some part of me fighting to keep Halloween alive in the off-season. I truly have no idea why I never kept decorations up year round in my bedroom when I was younger. It wasn’t until my early twenties that I even considered this an option. I don’t think anyone would’ve taken issue with me keeping some plastic pumpkins on display in my own space all year round, especially considering that at some point, as a toddler, I’d gotten so strangely attached to an Easter lamb window cling, that my mother allowed me to keep it in my bedroom window until it dried out too much to stay there anymore. Perhaps I, at one point, was of the mindset that looking at it year round would make it less special when the true time came. So instead, I sometimes did strange things.

I still remember the first time I truly became aware of autumn leaves and the magic they brought. It was a weekend in my early childhood, and my family was getting ready to go out somewhere. I was ready before everyone else and overly eager, so I decided to wait outside. I had a tendency to pace around outdoors for hours on end in my childhood, never “playing” in the way most kids do, but wandering around looking for inspiration and making up stories in my head. I probably wrote a library’s worth of novels in my mind between kindergarten and high school, based on things I observed and the ideas that would come to me. 

This day was no different, but would become very important in the long run.

It was mid-October, Halloween was on the way, and it just suddenly hit me how beautiful everything was. I could smell burning leaves in the distance, and the trees were so colorful, like a painting. There was magic in the air! For the first time, I realized what October truly was. It wasn’t just about the night of Halloween, there was this whole magical prerequisite leading up to that big night. 

Until my parents and grandfather were ready to meet at the car, I danced around pretending to be in a music video for the song What Am I Gonna Be For Halloween?, from a cassette tape that was being given away at McDonald’s that year. (Side note: A line in that song went “Should I be something frightful, or something more delightful?” and I spent the rest of my elementary school years contemplating what category my costume fit into each year after I’d picked it out, and redirecting the imaginary “video” accordingly. Mainstays in my fictional video included Dani Dennison in the “frightful” category and Kat Harvey on the “delightful” side, with other spots being filled by random kids I knew who just happened to mention what they were going to dress up as that year.) But as all of this hit me, I became very aware of one tree in our yard.

This is actually a picture of that exact tree. From that moment on, of all the trees in the yard, this was the one I looked to for inspiration and autumnal excitement. I’d watch it every year, and I knew when it started to turn, that my time of year had arrived. Even in the off-season, I would look up at it and could vividly imagine what it would look like eventually, even when autumn seemed like an eternity away. It satiated me and filled me with longing at the same time. 

But that first year, after I’d discovered how autumn made me feel, when my favorite tree started to turn, I had an idea. On the vacations my family took in the summer, I’d often collect seashells to remember the season by. I kept a few of them in a little box, and whenever I took the time to examine them, I was instantly transported back to the beach I could smell the salty air, hear the calling of seagulls, and feel the faraway excitement of a child during summertime. I figured, if that was so simple, why not start a collection of leaves to fill me with feelings of autumn, even after it had passed?

I ran around the yard, feeling so clever and happy. I tried to collect leaves in every different color, pattern, and shape I could find. I still remember my favorite one. It was mostly red, with yellow in the middle that looked somewhat like a flame, and within the yellow, the last little bit of green from before it changed. I kept it at the top of the pile, even when the leaves got so plentiful that I could barely hold them anymore. I don’t remember how I finally decided I’d collected enough for that day, but I ran inside and put them in a little bag. I was so happy with myself, that I’d thought of a way to preserve autumn all year round. 

 A couple of days later, I got the bug to collect more. I gathered some, though not as many as the previous excursion, and ran inside to add them to my bag.

And to say I as devastated by what came next is an understatement.

All of the leaves in my little collection had turned brown. Those vibrant colors from a few days ago had disappeared. Aside from being slightly different shapes, not one leaf was any longer discernible from the others. I cried and cried when I realized it was impossible to preserve them, at least in any way my seven year old self would’ve been capable of doing. There is some part of me that still mourns the loss of that tri-colored favorite. I think of it every time I see one like it. I came close to buying a set of Thanksgiving napkins a few years ago because the leaf design reminded me so much of that one from my childhood.

This is exactly why I feel like there are two sides to autumn. Somehow, the end of the season is not meant to be as beautiful and vibrant as the beginning. These days I don’t mind brown leaves; I seek them out for my photos no matter what time of year it is, to give some kind of autumnal vibe, but can they ever be as beautiful as they are at their peak in October? Though brown leaves may add an autumnal flair to any picture, I almost see them as a reminder that autumn has died and we are waiting for it to return, whereas when the leaves are colorful, ironic as it may sound, that’s when the world seems most alive.

I wish the world could keep its autumn color palette forever. But for now, we wait.

Stay spooky, my friends.