word weird: autumn

* derived from the latin autumnus and possibly the ancient etruscan root autu-, which means the passing of the year. 

* was used as the old french autompne (automne in modern french and autumpne in middle english) before it was normalised into the original latin

* before the 16th century, harvest was used to refer to the season 

* the word backend, once a common way to refer to the season, has been replaced by autumn

* the alternative word, fall, coming from the old english fiaell or feallen and the old norse fall, means to "fall from a height" and also is related to phrases like "fall of a leaf" and "fall of the year"

* in poetry, autumn is often associated with melancholia (as in Yeats's poem the wild swans at coole and Keats's to autumn)

* since 1997, Autumn is one of the top 100 names for girls in the united states

thoughts on endings

 “i'll come back when you call me / no need to say goodbye."

    this year i'm a senior. it's difficult, saying goodbye to the things i've known for four years, but i'm also excited for what comes next. i don't want to say goodbye, though. i don't want to leave these people, these places behind. 

    i've still got time. i'm just not ready.

colours

 her favourite colours change with the seasons.

in spring it’s green, brilliant grass green, like the leaves on roses and the moss growing gently on bushy-topped trees. it’s white, like daffodils and fuzzy dandelions, scattering their petals on the wind. it’s purple, soft lilac purple, like the early sunrise and gentle lavender always smiling. it’s pink, like the cherry blossoms waving in the quiet wind.

in summer it’s blue. stunning, piercing blue like the ocean casting itself on the shore, like the sky in the middle of a warm summer day. it’s yellow, like hibiscus flowers and tan like the soft sand lining the beach.

in autumn it’s orange like pumpkin spice, like soft candlelight in the dark and a fire warming the corner of a home. it’s brilliant red, like a forest lined with the leaves falling from bare trees. it’s brown, like the pages of a well-loved book, like nutmeg, like oatmeal that warms your mouth or the tang of coffee or the soft hug of cinnamon tea. 

in winter it’s red. bright, passionate red like the stripes on a candy cane or a red rose lying against the snow. it’s white, like snowflakes falling, like the lights on a christmas tree, like marshmallows sitting in a piping hot mug of cocoa. it’s cream, like a well-worn sweater or a fuzzy scarf that keeps away the cold. it’s army green, like a christmas tree that’s just been cut, like the smell of pine wafting through the air.

child

Everybody’s got to grow up sometime.

It comes on you gradually, 

a creeping shadow, a leaf in the wind.

And there comes a point when you say, like you always say,

“I’m not a child anymore,”

But you don’t really mean it. 

Not anymore. 

You begin to miss it - those flights of fancy, fighting dragons,

meeting the love of your life in a gold-tinged dream. 

Not everything’s so easy now.

There is good. Of course there is. But you feel her,

that little girl you used to be, slowly fading.

Becoming glass.

There are responsibilities now. 

It hurts sometimes, being too old for Narnia.

But there are bits of Narnia here, too.

ice cream summer

chocolate is the end of a performance, late-night rebellion, a victory dance.

mango is the sweet taste of beginnings, of hot summer evenings, of friendship.

strawberry is reflection, eating ice cream late at night and missing all the things that won’t ever happen again.

pineapple is bittersweet. the knowledge that good things are ending and others are starting. the tang of goodbyes and hellos and i’ll-miss-you’s and i-love-you’s. when will i see you again?