Delirious Thoughts on the Changing Seasons

Matthew McMorrough

It’s freshly fall, officially as of a week or so ago, marked in sound by the brief abundance of the deservedly beloved Earth, Wind & Fire tune “September.” It doesn’t quite look autumnal yet, but the cold has come out with a vengeance that is, at the very least, uncharacteristic for this sort of weather as early as September. 

During a brief Oak Grove run-in with my good friend Shane Byrne ’23, they were nearly giddy with joy; the cold was here, at least far more than recent days prior, and their long-sleeved, long-dressed garb was finally more fitting for the weather. With regards to their preference for the cold, they said, “Aesthetically, I am a soulless goth, so naturally I love the cold weather, darker days and the cawing of crows…[Honestly], my outfits have quite a few layers, and they just work better during the cooler months.” 

Their feelings on fall specifically are that “Autumn is a nice transition into winter, but ultimately I would say I enjoy the snow and darkness from winter more.” Here, we agree in perception, but not preference. Fall, I’ve found in the brief time I could consider myself an adult, is the beginning of the darkness, the un-asked for message that winter’s slog is here, but somehow you still have to wait for it. 

There is some respite, even for the extremely full of life, in the pressure to have fun winding down as the sun’s pervasion progressively halts. December has its sun, as well, along with its succeeding siblings of winter months, but those rays lack the radiance which makes the pain of light in one’s eyes worthwhile. I remember once, perhaps overdramatically, thinking my eyes would have to stare down, maybe even remain closed, forever, on a sunny day in fifth grade where the light’s meeting with the ground’s thick, bleach-like sheet was too overwhelming to bear. Also, the sun in winter, on those days where it melts things down, sometimes just seems taunting, more depressing than simple abject snowiness.

So, here’s to enjoying fall for its fact of not being winter. Not being summer either. For the sake of joy, I might be convinced to play into its tropes. Lovingly observing the luxury of leaves as they die in fiery shades, picking apples, walking in the slight wind and not letting it knock me down, flannel-centric outfits, cider-sippin’ Saturdays, football. As Rian Mokodompit ’22 said, sitting down next to me in the library, “Dude, I’m so cozy-core right now.” 

Between these activities, I have to recommend a tune fit for winter and fall alike, as it’s one for staring pensively out windows, which is always in season: “I’d Like to Walk Around in Your Mind,” by Vashti Bunyan. You can hear leaves’ slow descent and snow’s soft flurry alike between its airy, wistful lines and folky instrumentation.

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