As a thoroughbred Northeasterner, I am well acquainted with the seasons. I have learned to recognize and welcome these quarterly changes not only through the shifts in temperature, but also through societal signifiers — the presence of heavy coats around Grounds, the changing colors of storefronts and interior decorations and advertisers’ reminders that customers should update their seasonal wardrobes appropriately. More importantly, however, I have also learned that the seasons have personalities.
Winter is reclusive, inspiring closed doors and protection against perceived and potential dangers. Spring is easily excitable, on the verge of blooming but lacking the firm footing to prevent itself from releasing pent-up energy in a burst of rain. Summer is happily relaxed and laid-back, with the occasional touch of unavoidable lethargy. And fall is an intimate season.
It might sound silly to praise autumn in this way. You might say a love of fall is the result of indoctrinated material associations between the season and the consumer, from brown boots to the ever-mocked pumpkin spice latte. You might say I’m a little biased, because it’s the season of my twenty-first birthday (and every one of my other birthdays) to boot. You might argue that, fundamentally, fall doesn’t change our lives beyond the clothes we wear and the number of daylight hours we average.
But I’m inclined to disagree.
Today is chilly. I shivered when I first went outside this morning, putting on a sweatshirt to mitigate the initial shock. I sat with a blanket and drank a hot drink. I pulled my laptop onto my lap as I wrote. I invited friends over, and we sat in our own little world with the doors shut against the chill.
Fall is the season for drawing scarves and sweaters closer around us. We need something to stand between us and the outside world that has begun to bite at our fingers and heels. Yet as we create these makeshift barriers, we leave them permeable. We need them just enough to appreciate the cooler afternoons in the wake of oppressive summer heat without being chilled to the core.
In a similar way, we draw our friends closer. We create worlds of intimacy rather than isolation.
Fall is both inviting and protective. Year after year, I feel a nesting instinct on the brink of October. In the same way we’re drawn into knitted blankets and woolen clothes for warmth, we are drawn into friends and into each other for comfort and closeness. It is not cold enough to keep us apart, but just chilly enough to draw us together.
It is not that fall itself is infallible, but rather, that it unfailingly inspires this closeness year after year. I believe strengthened friendships are rooted in the season. This year, we feel this capability more than ever, as people draw into small circles and quiet conversations with more frequency. This palpable personification of fall is not here to help us forget our concerns and fears, but rather to provide us with the strength to face them.
Caroline’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at c.trezza@cavalierdaily.com.
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