Olivia Bennett
I see her passing in the orange, the strokes of the purple and blue-painted sky. The gentle border between summer and her beloved autumn is the soft soil in which change grows. I am not born again in the spring with the flowers and the leaves, but rather with the dying light’s last burst of color, the fruition of all things.
It’s within the warm, soothing brown, the crunch of leaves underfoot, in between the raindrops, that I finally miss what once was. Autumn, the everlasting sprite, brings with him a slowness, a meditation that is often lost in the spring and summer. I recognize myself more clearly through the puddles of rainwater that gather near the front step than I do in my bathroom mirror. It’s only with the first bite of chill that I appreciate the change: a sense of purpose, the warmth of a mug between pale fingers, a living room full of friends, a conversation with the three crickets that have made a home in my basement. If I reach high enough, surely my fingers could disturb the lemon-flavored clouds. Perhaps it’s the kisses of red, orange, and yellow that make me feel on the edge of something new.
Through the change, I must create, encapsulating my world in amber where it lives in pictures and memories and words. The world is blue and pink and I feel myself melting into that sunset orange again. Like the seasons, our colors change but I do not. The grass turns golden and stiff, my tanned skin spoiled by the sweet warmth of summer. At night I disappear into my work, illuminated by the ambient lighting of the moon. I do not mind when summer dies, laid to rest in the soil of the earth. I am confident she will return, in pursuit of her harvest lover. Within the reflection of the equinox, autumn reminds us that from the earth I was made, and to the earth I shall return. Everything must come to an end, and yet everything must rest. The hard work is done, and yet it is also just beginning.
Then, perhaps—I will emerge anew once winter has lifted and spring awakens the old bones. But until then, I will await my dearest September.