The allure of autumn (or fascination with fall)

It dawned on me, that is, that fall had arrived.

Now, though it’s my nature to select more impressive-sounding language, I prefer “fall” to “autumn.” I think it’s because the former, with its simple descriptiveness, captures the ephemeral but relentless beauty of the foliage and brings to mind the childhood years when that beauty was most innocently and cheerfully enjoyed.

Interestingly, it wasn’t the sight of amber leaves tumbling through the air that reminded me of the changing of the seasons, but the smoky aroma that accompanies them. It’s said that human smell triggers memories more efficiently that any other sense, and I certainly believe it. In the moment it took me to mutter “It smells like fall,” the plans and concerns of Princeton life were crowded out by images of an enormous pile of crunchy leaves on the lawn of 1915 Hall, of helping my dad rake the multicolor remnants of the maple tree in my backyard and of golf courses, previously fields of green, now layered with the naked trees’ tawny apparel.

After being awakened by the leaf and reminded by the aroma, I looked around and my suspicions were confirmed. Cannon Green was dotted with small yellow leaves and the foliage on the trees, like the hair on an aging man’s head, was perceptibly thinner than it had been when I arrived on campus.

Fall, like spring, is a transition season. Two of the primary emotions that accompany the season are wistfulness and anticipation: wistfulness for the summer just passed, its freedom and warmth and passion; anticipation of the winter to come, the cold and the fresh snow, the holidays and the family gatherings. But every season also has its own personality, independent from its predecessor and successor.

Fall is, to my mind, the season most conducive to the outdoors. The weather, at least in this region, invites one to experience the natural environment: the dry, crisp air, the mild temperatures and, of course, the reds and oranges and yellows and browns of the changing foliage. Summer can be stifling, winter can be frigid, spring can be damp, but fall, despite its faults, can be mesmerizing.

Walking down Olden Street by the E-Quad earlier today, I saw a young couple, clad in comfortable light jackets, sitting peacefully on a bench surrounded by thousands of small golden leaves. This quintessentially autumnal moment (I can’t help myself) could not be recreated at any other moment in the calendar: the deep blue sky, the natural beauty actively participating in the scene, the slight chill in the air — all contributing to romance.

Now, this might all read like an Andy Rooney monologue, but I promise there’s a point to all this waxing poetic. You see, with all the social intrigue and intellectual musings and academic plans and extracurricular activities, it’s so easy for us, as Princeton students, to forget that there’s a world unfolding around us. For goodness’ sake, I didn’t even realize summer had been replaced by fall until a leaf smacked me across the cheek.

And in the moments after that happened, when I woke up and looked around and saw the trademarks of the new season, when I reminisced about falls past, considered the experiences of the summer just ended and looked forward to the magic of the winter to come, everything else was, for once, forgotten. No academic worries, no social misgivings, no planning ahead. Instead, it was all beauty and memory and experience.

It’s just so easy to forget not only that there’s a universe outside of Princeton’s campus, but that there’s a world moving and changing and living right on this campus. And it’s an important reminder that our lives are not unfolding in isolation, that we are not discrete and autonomous units which can direct every feature of our environment. There are certain things, like the seasons, like beauty, like romance, that will always be with us no matter our plans and worries and theories.

Taking a moment to realize and embrace that fact might be, as the stress of this first semester ramps up, one of the best and most refreshing aspects of a day at Princeton.

Brandon McGinley is a politics major from Pittsburgh. He can be reached at bmcginle@princeton.edu.