Autumnal Melancholy

October 31.  Halloween.  And, of course, the last day of October.

What's up, you ask?  Why is this my first post in eleven days?  After an early start that had seem to promise another great and prolific blogging year, this will be only my fifth post in October.  Making October 2021 my poorest monthly showing -- quantity-wise, at least -- since October 2019.  October must, at least for me, have some miasma hanging about it.

September?  Different story.  September had a lot going for it.  There was my bruising but exciting climb to Rachel Lake.  The tense and hopeful excitement of my pre-travel Covid-19 test.  My fantastic week on the shores of Lake Como, Italy.  My first attendance in person at a Seattle Symphony concert since the pandemic began.  And, at the end of the month, my eagerly awaited Pfizer booster shot.

And October?  Well, there was an enjoyable visit to Boston in mid-month.  Otherwise, the month was flat and listless.  Like a return to pandemic isolation and inertia, but without the pandemic justification.  No wonder I've had a hard time finding something worth writing about.

But of course that's not really an excuse.  In past years, my posts have often displayed considerable enthusiasm for the most trivial of subjects.  An example?  How about my posted fascination over my state's changing slightly the numbering system on its auto license plates (6-29-2010)?  No, there were things to write about in October -- they just didn't capture my attention, they didn't interest me.  I just stared out my window blankly, gazing at the rain and gray skies. 

I had brain fog, I guess.  Even without having had Covid-19.

I just came back from an afternoon walk through the Arboretum, near my house.  Two miles on paths through beautiful changing foliage.  The sky was dark blue, the sun was shining, the trees had just reached the stage that makes for beautiful photography -- predominantly yellow foliage, punctuated occasionally by the bright scarlet of Japanese maples. Some trees are still completely green, and others completely bare.  Nature's diversity on display for my enjoyment.

And I did enjoy it, but with an enjoyment tinged with melancholy.  The way as a kid you enjoy the last day of Christmas vacation; the way I enjoyed my last day at Lake Como.  The sense that the Universe was putting on one last display of fireworks for me, one last celebration before the end.  The end, at least, until the first buds of spring, an event that on October 31 feels like a lifetime away.  The remaining green leaves will soon turn yellow, and the yellow leaves will fall.  A month from now, all the deciduous trees will be skeletal, the blue sky will have faded to the perpetual winter gray of the Northwest Corner, and the rainfall will be constant.

In fact, the blue skies of yesterday and today were already a mere interlude, following 36 hours of continual rain, rain that managed to flood my basement garage.  More rain tomorrow has been planned, rain that will get November -- and the winter of 2021-22 -- off to a proper start.

Yes, I know.  Thanksgiving will come in a few weeks, and then Christmas.  Oases in the desert of melancholic gloom, but oases at which we can't linger indefinitely before trudging out once more across the barren sands.

At least I have my cats, who have become notably more affectionate since the temperatures began falling.  I take comfort in their affection, even though I know deep in my heart that it's a faux affection, a seeking for a warm lap, a comfortable bed.  But I take whatever delusional solace I can get from their hard feline hearts.

But we'll get through this, both my cats and I.  Melancholy is derived from the Greek for "black bile," and the change of seasons has probably had a physical effect on my emotions.  It will pass, as my hormones -- my "humors" -- are adjusted.  As the black bile is replaced by the happier, summery humors of "blood" and "yellow bile."

But, meanwhile, Halloween?  Bah!  Humbug!  Those little brats will get no candy from me.  I'll turn off the front lights and spend the evening reading in a back bedroom.