Appreciating Princeton's simple joys

For the past week, I've been waking up early. Early for me, at least, which is around 8 a.m. It started as the result of jetlag and has evolved into a habit, shocking no one more than myself (and perhaps my alarm clock, whose snooze button I now press a mere one or two times). I'm not sure how long this pattern will last, but for now the experience of waking up early is worth it if for no other reason than the tree outside my window, whose yellow leaves are perfectly backlit by the morning sun that streams into my room and pauses to turn these leaves the color of gold. As the sun rises, the leaves resume their natural yellow shade. But for about 45 minutes, I can enjoy looking out into the slums courtyard — yes, I realize that "slums" sort of ruins the poetry of the experience — through this glowing cascade of leaves.

I think the reason I find this little view so particularly lovely is because, in the course of an average day at Princeton, I rarely stop to appreciate how spectacular my surroundings are. McCosh courtyard? Just a place I pass through on my way to class. Prospect Garden? Yeah, it's the fastest way to get to Terrace so I can eat. This tree outside my window serves as a reminder that my favorite season at Princeton has arrived and that, if there's any time for me to appreciate the campus, that time is now.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the first person to observe that fall is a glorious season, and I'm probably beating a dead horse of a cliché. After all, if Shakespeare and Keats have already said it (though they called the season "autumn"), why should I even try?

But while I know the English countryside has its attractions, these fine gentlemen never experienced fall at Princeton. And fall at Princeton is really rather spectacular. It's not just about the trees, which transform themselves into a magnificent array of colors. It's that the campus never looks so lovely as it does in orange, red and yellow. With the help of the suddenly bright trees, everything seems to spring to life, becoming more vivid. And the fall sun, sitting lower on the horizon, magically bathes all the stone buildings in a warm glow.

I find fall particularly exciting because it's a relatively new experience for me, as are seasons in general. Growing up in Los Angeles, I would look at photographs of quintessential New England fall trees in an effort to distract myself from the unchanging palm trees that surrounded me. Though there were some nearby streets lined with deciduous trees, they never did it quite right. Maybe it was because the Spanish-style house peering through the orange leaves ruined the illusion. Maybe it was the eighty-degree weather.

Whatever the explanation, I know that I didn't truly enjoy fall until I came to Princeton. And what worries me is that, as the campus becomes such a familiar part of my daily life, the splendor of my surroundings, even during my favorite time of the year, starts to fade into the background.

So it comes as a pleasant surprise that something as unpleasant as jet lag could help me to rediscover one of the reasons I came to Princeton in the first place (apart from the rigorous academics, of course): fall. Don't worry. I'm not going to end with any attempt at poetry. I simply want to point out that fall at Princeton won't last much longer, so you might as well try to get something out of it while you can. Soon it's going to be winter and that, well, that's a season that makes me less sure that leaving Los Angeles was such a good idea. Cailey Hall is an English major from Los Angeles, Calif. She can be reached at schall@princeton.edu.