5 Minute Reads | Anthology

Autumn by wreathofcicatrices

By wreathofcicatrices

Title: Autumn

Autumn used to represent recovery. Green deciduous leaves would leave in its place a variety of colours. Mother Earth would shed the green to adorn herself with shades of red, purple, orange, yellow and blue. The autumn foliage.

She'd dance in the rustle of fallen leaves, letting go. Nothing could hinder her. In her downfall, I saw strength. And in her recovery, I saw beauty.

It was the time for fresh beginnings, where we rid ourselves of the old, discovered the new, and embraced our very own selves. Mistakes were meant to be forgotten; buried in the past.

My mistake in the form of you, changed that. I came to relate more to the American term for Autumn. The Fall. Because you left me fallen on the ground, in shattered pieces. People would tread carefully around me, in fear of stepping on a loose shard.

I felt myself change. No longer was I a happy soul. I was instead, a brooding storm of grey. An embrace would leave me crumpled, like a dry leaf. Like the autumn leaves.

I found it ironic when I realised what autumn represented. It was the period between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. It was the transition from the end of summer to the beginning of winter. It was a transition from happiness to iciness.

When I looked into myself, I found nothing worth reaping. So I salvaged what I could, to protect from the biting cold. Funnily enough, Autumn finds its root in the Latin word Autumnus. In Roman mythology, Autumnus was the personification of Autumn, representing the harvest season.

Cultures have come to associate autumn with melancholy. For, the days are shorter, and the nights, broodingly long. There is but a waft of summer left, and the chill of winter lies just over the horizon, ready to make its appearance. The colours drain from the skies, painting the aged, dying leaves instead.

In my reflection, I saw myself surrounded by a cloak of mist, with tiny snowflakes falling to rest upon my shoulders. No longer was the Sun behind me, urging me on, with a large smile on her face.

The rise in melancholy leaves people turning inward. The season has come to be referred to as the season of sickness. Even reaching a stage where it's a symbol of death, a symbol of mourning.

It was then I realised I was mistaken. Autumn by no means represents recovery. The fallen leaves didn't heal. They were the leaves the trees had to let go, in order to give room for the leaves yet to bloom. It was a sacrifice. A worthy sacrifice.

I had to let go. I had to let go of my past and embrace my future. I had to let go of my rotten parts. I had to replace them with nuts and bolts which actually worked.

And so I did.

This was the harvest I was meant to do.

Just in time for summer.