Autumn

Emily Carr, untitled, 1935-8, oil on cardboard

Autumn.

It’s almost autumn where I live.

….and to be just a little bit more specific…..it is becoming autumn in what I live in…..this body of mine.

When I was first married, we did what all young familes do in the months of September and October.

Go to country fairs.

And buy apples.

Take long drives and talk about the future (?)……and of course, glory in the leaves changing their color.

The beauty of Autumn.

“I think Autumn is my favorite season:” I say dreamily, to my then husband while we are driving to yet another fall fair somewhere in smalltown (bumf#@k), Ontario.

Why, Robyn?

“Everything is dying” he replied.

Let’s face it, the man DID have a point.

Now, I see myself as some kind of a shaman or prophet… because now it is really aucourant to adore autumn but I was a pioneer way back then in this department, trust me.

And so it came to pass….

That I decided like every good shaman, I would perform rituals during this season of autumn when it rolled around every year.

My ritual?

I would choose a favorite leaf color and study ONLY that ONE leaf color in all its exaltation that season.

Ah, the year of gold.

Ooooh, the year of red.

Memories from the year of gold light the corners of my mind.

…..and I shall never forget my autumn of VIVID REDS.

Okay.

So I never really got beyond the colors of red and gold. I was doing my best trying to be a nature lover, truly I was.

But, truly it is not in my nature.

WHATEVS.

Those were the years of not only of red and gold, but what I now fondly think of as the Maria Montessori years. Yes, like all good, yuppie mommies did in the late eighties, I spent all my time driving my son to Montessori school.

Maria M. also believed in a lot of extra curricular activities for her children and all of them would commence in September and I also might add that my son never remotely then or now had even a slight interest in ANY one of these activities but I drove and I drove and I drove and I studied the colors of the dying leaves never thinking that in the AUTUMN of my 60th year, I would not be as absorbed in the changing color of leaves but in the changing color of my hair.

My hair is almost black.

With very little grey.

This is a big problem because ever since I was twelve I wanted my hair to be like this.

I am Autumn.

Hear me ROAR.

( P.S. I honestly don’t know if the white maple leaf is rare, I know there are white Maple trees…..however, we shall go with poetic license……shan’t we, Gentle Readers?)