Autumn Rain

Autumn Rain

It’s not supposed to be this way—the rain I mean. The sullen, gray skies belong to winter, not now, not here, not in the middle of Autumn. The autumn rain is cold and steady. The day is morose and dark. Not a sad day but a melancholy mood could set in if I were not careful. The autumn rain keeps pouring down and the world outside is out of step with the world inside my mind.

We all sometimes let the little things carry our minds off to some dark corner where we don’t like to be. I am sure we all do it although don’t think anyone does it intentionally.

I hear the rhythm of rain pounding on the window from which I’ve observed many sunny, unseasonably warm, autumn days recently.

But the seasons, like life, are a balance of good and bad, happy and sad, pleasure and pain, bliss and upheaval, and beginnings and endings. No season goes gentle into that good night. No person should go gentle into that good night either. I will not, at least I hope not.

You never know exactly how you’re going to feel when the race is done and you realize your time is up.

The rain, like tiny icy sabers made, stabs at my summer skin. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for the roar of the November gales or the chilling rain that cuts through my skin and slices down to my bones. I’m not ready for Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas. Yet they will be here and gone before I know it and I’ll be stuck in the middle of winter’s darkness with spring still too far away..

But, the universe is as it was meant to be. The seasons come and go and lives will begin and all we can do is do the best we can. And knowing that many times I will not be prepared for what life or the seasons bring, I think am thus better prepared for the unexpected. The older I get the more aware of this I become.

Summer has come and gone, but it was a good one. It certainly did not go gentle into that good night. It stayed with us well into Autumn this year. The sunny, hot, humid days and warm, muggy nights stayed with maybe a bit too long. And like many things, it stayed beyond its time. Summer fought a brilliant and valiant fight for its life – right up to the bitter end. But, it finally lost to a cold, biting Autumn rain. But summer did not go gentle into that good night.

Summer grew old and weary and it was not needed by the world anymore. The crops were grown and harvested, the trees were tired and barely awake, and the flowers were exhausted – brown and dying. Autumn was born and it is now its time to live and prosper. Summer needed to die. The cycle of the seasons mirrors the cycle of life.

The autumn rain beats on my window, the skies are leaden and filled with gloom. It’s strange but now that the sun has gone away, I cannot remember what a sunny day looks like. I can close my eyes and I can visualize it, but I can’t “feel” it. I can’t feel the bright warm rays on my skin. I can’t even remember what the barren trees looked like when they were flourishing with life.

But remembering green trees and sunny days are only smudged and foggy ghosts of sunny days and green trees swaying in a soft summer breeze. My memory of summer is already fading and that’s a good thing. Summer deserves its own time; a sunny summer day is a fleeting treasure – as it should be – and we should cherish every one.

I have a strange way of thinking. Remembering sunny summer days reminds me that when I am ill I cannot quite remember what it feels like to be well. And when I am well, I can’t quite remember what it feels like to be sick. But even though I can’t remember what it feels like to be sick. I’m quite sure I don’t want to be sick. There is always something that seems to be trying to keep us in the present and focused on the moment while the past tugs at us with invisible arms. That’s a good thing because all we really have for sure is now.

The autumn rain will end sometime soon and the sun will come back. And though summer is dead, I’m quite sure it will be born again when it is summer’s time. And that’s all I need to know.

I don’t remember what summer felt like, so I’ll try to appreciate the gift of the rain on this gloomy day – as cold and brutal and as stinging and heartless as it may be.

Right now I’m going to put on my rain gear and go for a walk in the wind and the rain and be glad I’m alive. I’ll listen to the rain pounding on my rain jacket’s hood, and find it mesmering and endearing. But tomorrow I won’t quite remember what it was like. It will be just a shadow of a memory.

And like the seasons, we all have our time. And we need to make the best of it. I was reminded recently, by a dear friend of mine who quoted Mohammed Ali – “Don’t count the days, make the days count”.

Not one of us knows how many days we have left. So why bother counting? We need to make every day count. Some things are important and some are not – and sometimes it’s not so easy to tell the difference.

If you find that hard to believe, look around you. It seems everyone wants to stay young as long as they can, even when they are old. To be young is to be envied in our world. But youth, like summer, eventually fades into the autumn of our lives and suddenly we find ourselves in the winter of our lives. Outer beauty is a transitory thing, but inner beauty will last a lifetime. And just because I am in the winter of my life, does not me I will go gentle into that good night. No one should…

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night…

(Dylan Thomas “Do not go gentle into that good night”)

Sometimes it’s hard to live within ourselves. So many things try to tug us one way or the other. In this world of instant communication, artificial intelligence, conspiracy theories, and endless influencers, it’s difficult to separate what is important from what isn’t.

My life’s season has turned to winter and I can no longer remember what that warm, sping sun felt like on my skin. No matter how much I long for the spring or summer of my life, they will never come again. So I’ll accept winter as my friend enjoy it as much as I am able.

The seasons of life and the seasons of nature are intertwined and constantly changing. Some of us are in the springtime of our lives and others, like me, are in the winter of our lives..

And everyone is somewhere in between.

In the end, it will not matter how much money I made, how many material things I’ve collected, or what I accomplished, the only thing that will matter is how much I have loved and how much I am loved.

The winter of my life is here but I will rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

The only way I will ever see another spring is through the memories of those who love me.

I am thankful for this day and for the autumn rain… and all the thoughts and feelings it inspired.