Even though I grew up in Hawai’i, where not a damn thing ever changes, I’m a bit of a fetishist for Autumn. Autumn is, of course, THE premier metaphor for the beautiful, good death. Anyone who’s anyone (who loves death) loves Autumn.
Autumn says, “alright Spring, you had your birth metaphors and little green buds and cute fluffy baby animals. Summer you were all warm and fun and full of life etc. And Winter… well you’re just cold and I simply don’t care for you. But I am Autumn, and I am about the glorious decay of every living thing.”
Alas, there is not much Autumn in Los Angeles either. So this weekend some members of the Order headed deep inland and upland to Yucaipa, CA to an apple farm.
That, my friends, is snow. SNOW. And we’re drinking apple cider. It’s decorative gourd season, motherfuckers.
Look at those leaves turning golden and falling from the trees as I am brutally attacked with snowballs.
Leaf death scene from The Fall of Freddie the Leaf, fall-themed children’s book:
“Will we all die?” Freddy asked.
“Yes. Everything dies, no matter how big or small. How weak or strong. We first do our job. We experience the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. We learn to dance and to laugh, and then we die”
But the most glorious part (other than the gorging on apple cider donuts) was the piles of rotting apples. Behold their glory!
Like little humans. Do we want these same apples next year? No! We want new apples. New people. New life. These get to mulch into oblivion.
I wanted to start a rotten apple snowball fight with the other family in the orchard, but I was advised against it by my compatriots. Next time… next time.