Glancing out my window as I write this, I am blinded by an ocean of orange and red hues that catapult my brain into a time when these colors first made their impression on me long ago. As far back as my tortured brain can recall, Autumn has always been my most favored season. It has a beauty and charm all its own, and such sights, scents, and serenity can never be matched by any other time of the year. I can almost reach out the window with my soul and grasp the very aura that lingers amongst the haunted charm in the air, and use its very essence as therapy for whatever should pain me. This is a feeling rooted in awe, but humbled by tranquility. It’s a vibe just as much as it is a physical sensation, with the cold air breaking through your very clothing, bathing your skin in a frigid yet warm embrace. I don’t care to understand the hows and whys of this transcendent experience, but I often look back with reflection on the memories that built up over the years to construct such a massive wave of comfort whenever this time comes around.
One of those very memories that often takes center stage is the feeling of walking through the streets with leaves crushing beneath my feet. Often a walk home from the bus stop after a long day at school, or even a visit to my friend’s house up the road. Whatever the reason, those leaves were always there to guide my steps like an excited pet eager to chomp at my shoes wherever I walked. Throughout this walk I would pass massive trees surrounding the neighborhood, filled with all the color you’d expect this time of year. Yellow would often stand out amongst the rust, as if it was showing off to all its companions for how vibrant it became above all else. Even the pond nearby would glisten like glass with reflections of the earth I came to love. A mirror to extend this ethereal radiance far into the landscapes beyond my eye’s reach.
Halloween, of course, was another gift from the season, with a chance to express my undying love for all things horror related in a way that any other day of the year would offend. This was a day where everyone embraced their own inner monster, which made me feel more at peace. Having loved horror movies so much, it was nice to feel that extension of creepy camaraderie everywhere I went. Whether it was a simple trip to the store where cobwebs would carry across the entryway, or even my dentist’s office, where the receptionist would be decked out from head to toe in some elaborate costume. All these little details added to the greater experience of the day, which would eventually turn to night, and the real magic would begin.
My parents would go into their signature creative mode once it came time to express their spooky side, decorating the house from head to toe in everything from giant wooden witches hanging off the roof, to dead trees and fog machines lining the pathway to the front door. All in an effort to give people the best experience they could fathom at this time in this moment. A time when our family, friends, neighbors, and strangers all rejoiced in all that is spooky. Could it have gotten any better being a kid during this unfathomable time? Well, capping it off with candy certainly helped. Traversing the area from house to house, witnessing all the sights and sounds this night had to offer. It was all just an abundance of extraordinary magic that was the closest I’d ever come to experiencing anything truly supernatural.
Years go by, and unlike most memories that tend to fade, these memories only grow stronger. For it is not my body that craves it much like it craves food or water, it’s the very fiber of my being that pines for these memories. Strip away the body, the blood, the bones, and we are all but unique entities tied together via a string of inexplicable occurrences. We spend our days getting happy, sad, angry, energetic, tired, and bored. All that fuels us is our experiences throughout our time here, and those experiences are only as good as the memories that give them strength. Our best ability is the one that allows us to choose our own path, and choose what memories we give strength to. Not the ones that bring us pain and sadness, but the ones that bring us joy and peace.
That’s precisely why whenever this time of year comes, I light incense, I decorate the house, and I glance out the window while sharing these thoughts. It not only brings me peace, but it strengthens my resilience to resist the doom that tries to plague all of our shadowed reflections on life. It’s reminded me year after year that sometimes the biggest problems can often be solved by the smallest solutions. After all, what chance does a world of sorrow stand against even the ghost of a happy memory?
