As the leaves begin to change color and the air turns a bit cooler, I feel a familiar tug of nostalgia. Each autumn, I am reminded of the seasons before – the memories shared that no longer exist, yet remain a part of me.Â
The crisp fall air brings back the warm scent of my mom’s apple pie, the cinnamon sweetness wafting through my childhood home. I can envision my siblings and I, eagerly awaiting our first bites, huddled together at the kitchen counter. The crunch of red leaves beneath my shoes brings sounds of joy, as I remember jumping into the piles of leaves my dad lovingly raked together in our front yard. My siblings and I diving head first into the mass of leaves, our stomachs aching from our billowing laughter.Â
As I grew older, autumn changed with me. In middle school, autumn meant slipping on my pink, ribboned uggs, to walk from school to Starbucks with my friends. With our pumpkin spiced drinks in hand, we would walk around our small town, savoring both the fall flavor and the freedom we now had.
In high school, fall became a season dedicated to tennis. The change of seasons was a time of pure excitement – a time for rejoining my best friends on the court and playing my favorite sport. Autumn then became a season of competition and companionship.Â
Now, on the Hill, autumn changes once again. I spend my time with friends, reminiscing on memories made and talking excitedly about all that is to come. As we walk around campus, I can’t help but look in awe at the changing color all around me – a reminder that as so much changes, so much beauty remains.Â
The autumn wind stirs the leaves, carrying with it all the versions of myself. Every fall brings complex emotions – feelings of grief for what has passed and feelings of anticipation for all that is to come. Perhaps that is autumn’s gift: it is a season of both return and transition – a season that grounds me with elements of the past while reminding me of all that has changed. Autumn teaches me that I can hold onto nostalgia and hope in the same hand.Â