Autumn Reflections

The middle of October is here, but we’ve enjoyed a few weeks of fine, dry weather. However it has now become very evident that the days are growing much shorter and cooler, especially when I have to head off to work at 6.30 in the morning.

Outside of work, it feels like a time to pause and take a breath before being swept up in the rush of activity that usually carries us towards the end of the year.

The calendar is packed. We have less than two weeks until Nos Galan Gaeaf, Winter’s Eve, or Welsh Halloween. Then, a few days later in Britain, we have the fireworks and bonfires of the Fifth of November. Once the solemnity of Remembrance Day has passed, everything turns towards Christmas. ‘Tis the season of shopping, parties and, if you’re lucky, good times with family and friends.

As a family, we also go away every November for a trip, a mini-holiday. It has nothing to do with American Thanksgiving, though it usually falls around the same time.

But I wonder: is it simply a coincidence that the British calendar piles up special events in late autumn? Behind the modern explanations and commercialism, I suspect we are still echoing, if not actually repeating, some very ancient habits.

First, there is the commemoration of the ancestors. One aspect of Celtic Halloween is that it is a festival of the dead. Remembrance Sunday, when we honour our war dead, seems appropriately placed at this time of year, even if its timing is strictly the result of historical events.

The second ancient habit is communal celebration. We gather together for warmth, companionship, and cheer, gathering around man-made fire and light just as nature’s sunshine and warmth are in full retreat.

The third ancient habit is reflection. Perhaps it is because this was once the season when people quite literally took stock, counting the harvest stores and wondering whether there would be enough to see them through the winter.

I live a life far removed from that of an ancient, or even a modern, farmer, but I usually avoid starting major new projects at this time of year. I have always been strongly affected by the seasons, and I consider it a good year when I manage to avoid the depression that can settle over both autumn and winter.

For the next few months, I will chew the cud, turning over ideas and making plans, but I will consciously put off entirely new ventures until my personal energy rises with the sap in the spring.

This may seem a little maudlin, but my birthday falls this month, so I can’t help reflecting on growing older. It is a dismal metaphor, but I realise that I, too, am in the autumn of my life.

Of course, this little life of mine is not at all what my younger self had hoped or expected. Life has consistently provided what I’ve needed, though rather less of what I once wanted. Actually, even that implies a degree of faith that I don’t really possess. I no longer believe in pie in the sky, while on earth the pie I eat remains very humble indeed.

I need the frenetic pace of the run-up to Christmas, and I always lean into it. I need the distraction from the gloom. Both kinds: the natural gloom of the season and the more personal kind that lurks within.