A glance at the calendar at this time of year is never necessary to know we're coming to an end of some kind. Autumnn is always beautiful, and for many, the favorite season. I can understand why, but not for me.
The beginning of school when I was a child has nothing to do with it because I looked forward to that. The feeling comes from so far back, I don't believe the symbolic connections influence my emotions. Perhaps those who understand "spiritual" matter might be able to explain. It's a sad time. Like so much that is most poignant, the very loveliness of the sensual world emphasizes the melancholy that underlies every day until the trees are bare and the first frost has browned the grass.
This is the season I tend to try to write poetry. Common adolescent hangover, I'm sure. This is the season when I need to be tied to the mast like Ulysses to keep me from spending a fortune on spring bulbs that I will later curse because I dislike the planting so much. Oh, and did I mention, this is the season of my husband's and my birthdays? After so many of those, you'd think I'd be over that by now!