This weekend, as we walked to Chautauqua Park, my roommate pointed out that the trees were changing their colors. We strolled along the path, trying to pick out the perfect spot for our graduation pictures (as every CU Boulder student does at Chautauqua, once the time comes). I felt flashes of excitement at the prospect of fall finally arriving, culminating with it a sense of intense nostalgia. I began to reminisce on the past seasons of my life, from childhood to now; I realized that almost all of my most cherished memories could be correlated with moments when mother nature’s leaves began to shed their dreary shades of green for splashes of red, orange, and yellow.Â
Ever since that walk, my mind has been a whirlwind of memories. When I aimlessly strum my guitar, I think back to the warmth of the campfire that illuminated my young soul, my family softly singing the songs of our world as we huddled together to stay warm on those brisk autumn nights. I remember lying down in the cool grass with my mother, gazing up at the stars in complete wonder and awe.
Now I catch a glimpse of my lonely hiking boots hidden in the back of my closet, and I’m engulfed by memories of dashing down a dirt path, giggling in childish delight as my mother’s voice, yelling at me to wait, is drowned out by the whipping of the crisp fall air on my flushed cheeks. I would reach the end of the trail – my family nothing but specks in the far distance – with my hair falling out of its braid and my lungs protesting angrily at my betrayal, but breathing in the fresh air without a care in the world.Â
I walk down my usual path to class, and as Stevie Nicks’ voice begins to croon through my earbuds, the scenery changes from a sunny landscape to a foggy atmosphere, rain quietly drizzling on the concrete pavement. There’s a chill in the air, but not enough to where I feel frozen; contrarily, the chill sets a fire to my bones. The brisk autumn air envelops me in her comforting and familiar embrace, inspiring me to keep going as I fight to make my own way in this world.Â
I glance at my love as he cooks dinner, and I reminisce on that late autumn night we spent in the mountains, giddily running after a waterfall. Our friends hung back near the road when we parked, but he decided to come with me as I went exploring. The trail was difficult to see and the autumn air was biting, but nothing else mattered except for the task at hand. When we came across the falls, I felt an immense rush of euphoria – both for accomplishing our goal, and for finding someone who wanted to run after waterfalls in the dead of the night with me. That late autumn night was when I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was my person. Â
Now, as I write this article, I look out my window at the rain falling to our earth, nourishing mother nature and sustaining her life. I think back to my time at my family home, when I would stand in the backyard on bad days in the autumn months, letting the rain paint my tired face as it soothed my weary soul. My mother always told me: Our mother heals. She was right. I have the overwhelming urge to drive home and stand outside in the rain with my mother, exuberantly laughing like children as we wiggle our toes in the wet dirt.Â
Since my childhood, the autumn months have always brought about my most cherished memories. On the precipice of graduating from college, my mind is overwhelmed by memories, and my soul is engulfed with nostalgia. As I approach my final college fall season, my heart is full.
