As appears in http://panzeepress.com/20071017.pdf
I didn’t get fooled by the unseasonable heat – I could tell autumn had arrived and we’ve been moving in its throes. It came as little surprise to me, then, that I struggled with this article and missed my deadline by a few days.
(I’m turning my editor on his ear by using a first-person voice for this piece. You’ll only read these same words if I can “speak” to autumn in a way that convinces him to print this without a rewrite. I’ve a few particular reasons for making this choice, including my editor’s affinity for drama and confrontation – I’ll speak to the others as I progress.)
This really all began back in late June, though I’m not convinced anyone noticed, what with all of summer’s fun and frolic still forthcoming. After we reached the summer solstice our planet has been moving closer to the sun, but the Earth’s tilted rotational axis has also been leaning the Northern Hemisphere away from the sun’s heat and light. Each day has lasted just a tiny bit less than the day prior, and the sun’s path each day has dipped lower in the sky, rising just a smidge more north and setting a little further south on the horizon.
It doesn’t get dramatically noticeable until after the autumn equinox, when the days start to become shorter than the nights (the “equinox” pointing to the time when the day and the night are of relatively equal length). I see autumn’s light a little softer, a little slower, as though it’s meandering its way here before it reaches the ground. It bathes each day in the light of foreboding, a tepid warning of cool temperatures and overcast days to come.
Central Pennsylvania revels in this, the partner transitional season. Resting in a temperate zone as we do, we gradually move from one temperature extreme to the other. Often I hear people extol the virtues of our four seasons, a boon granted us again by our location on the planet’s surface. It stretches these transitions out into seasons all their own.
Autumn lacks spring’s sense of anticipation and awakening, though, replacing it with the feeling that, well, recess is over. “I hope you’ve had your fun,” autumn seems to say, “because there’s work to do.” Classes begin for many, the harvest for others, to say nothing of the arduous switch from summer to winter wardrobes. Even the deciduous trees hunker down and get to work – with the prospect of less heat and light ahead, they move slowly into “rest” mode, shedding the bright green chlorophyll in their leaves to dazzle us with their remaining colors. Pity they can’t enjoy television’s new fall lineups.
Some time ago I discovered the need for a greater personal awareness of autumn and its effects – the more destructive manic episodes I’ve undergone in the past all occurred during this season. The gradual reduction of light and heat impacted my moods and behaviors so subtly it escaped notice for some time. As my understanding of this impact increased, I gained a greater ability to negate its effects. My mindfulness of this season now helps me to maintain a greater sense of stability and cull a greater enjoyment for this time of year.
I dare not de-personalize autumn, for I do so at my own peril – another reason for choosing this viewpoint. My struggles with this article stemmed first from trying to meet my editor’s expectations and avoid making autumn “all about me.” My self-doubt and uncertainty – swelling in my own autumnal turn – weren’t helping. I ultimately chose a personal accounting, though, for my interactions with autumn help define my character, and my uncertainty (“Will the readers appreciate my perspective?”) in this time of transition, once embraced, motivated me to this effort.
Though I’ve made regular contributions to the Panzee Press (and hope to continue doing so), I cannot create an internal certainty that you, the reader, would fully appreciate my perspective on this or any topic. Simply put, I am a heterosexual. My views on autumn, however revealing and intimate, lack what could reasonably be seen as a vital component for this magazine. To whatever extent I may be able to cleverly turn a phrase, there remains the possibility that an asterisk of sorts accompanies my ideas. “Who cares what Philip has to say? He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand. He’s not gay.”
We move through these days of transition and definition, and I’m happy to reveal myself to you in this moment. You’ve been reading my contributions lo these past few weeks, and it seems only fair that you should know better the source of these missives. My editor & I enjoy a growing closeness, and I mingle with the Panzee bullpen as proud member of the team. My comparative oddity impacts me not – the combined sensibilities of myself and the Panzee writing team allows us all to ascend beyond a need to distinguish and separate. Yet I cannot dismiss the notion that ultimately, my voice lacks a relevant timbre.
Thus, I offer you my sense autumn to give greater definition to one Panzee writer. I offer you my personal challenges in this transitional season, defying my editor’s wishes (to his glee) to hopefully facilitate transition of another sort. He’s made something of a sticky wicket out of this “first person” perspective, creating a trickle-down effect on the Panzee bullpen. In offering you my autumnal considerations, I know I cannot speak accurately to the changing light or the coming holiday season as they may impact those seen as “different” for the simple matter of sexual preference.
Certainly there exists among you those with viewpoints more germane than my own. In this time of transition, definition, and diligence, I encourage any and all with a wish to express to contact the editor of this magazine and explore your own possible contributions. Though I’ve tried to speak from a universal perspective, Panzee Press can serve the needs of this community better when those within the community speak. I will continue to contribute as my editor sees fit, and hope to become merely one (alternative) voice among many. It falls to you, this fall, to help this magazine transition itself into a greater engine of fun, hope, and love.
One Perspective 