Friday, December 07, 2007
Whenever autumn is referenced in Indian literature, music, poetry or any work of art, it is always in the context of a tragedy. Never in any other context.
The lush green fades into a pale yellow, then a brown and then grey in colour. The leaves detach themselves from the branches and bury themselves in the soil below. Forever.
When a man grows old and regret takes the place of hope, he uses the phrase “the autumn of my life” often.
When two people in love get separated even before uniting, they say “The autumn arrived even before Spring”. The autumn inspires poetry in many a poetic soul; poetry carrying the sentiments of despair, gloom, desolation and despondency.
Nobody looks forward to the arrival of autumn. Such are the connotations attached with autumn in India.
But there is a land, faraway, beyond the horizon, at the other end of the diameter where autumn is the most beautiful of them all. The green turns in to a brilliant yellow, then to a sunset orange to crimson to a flaming red. Forests and forests are embellished with colours as if celebrating the departure. The autumn of this land inspires poetry too, but the sentiment carried is so different. The contrast is unbelievable!
There is no farewell on earth as grand as this one.
There is no man on earth luckier than he who has seen the maple during the season of the fall.
Find more pictures in their original size at Fall in Love with the Fall