I like to think I’m currently in the “autumn of my life,” but as they ominously mention too many times in Game of Thrones, “winter is coming.” I’ve always preferred the cool, crisp temperatures of Fall and the colorful leaves associated with this special time of the year. The song “Autumn Leaves,” written in 1945 by Hungarian-French composer Joseph Kosma, captures this feeling whether in instrumental or song version. In 1949, Johnny Mercer penned the English version of the words based on French poet Jacques Prevert’s original lyrics. Roger Williams took the melody itself to the top of the charts in 1955, while several years later popular artists like Frank Sinatra crooned these familiar words:

The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold.
.
I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands
I used to hold
.
Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I’ll hear
Old winter’s song
,
But I miss you most of all
My darling
When autumn leaves
Start to fall
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I also found it interesting that Miles Davis did his last recording (Bootleg) of the song in 1966 at the Oriental Theatre here in Portland, Oregon. I personally feel that the beauty of the instrumental versions are much more uplifting than the sadness conveyed in the the lyrics of loss. I don’t necessarily associate falling leaves with “the end,” but rather with a picturesque time of year. At one time in my life, they meant the beginning of a lot of raking. The Condo Association takes care of that now, as I’ve certainly had my share of blister-raising yard work. It also reminds me of Corey Lake, the site of my grandparent’s summer trailer, and the acres and acres of land that we cleared of leaves every year. The reward was supposedly a big family meal complete with homemade pie, but for me food did not compensate for the hard work. One year I even rented equipment to speed-up the seemingly endless process. I hated raking leaves!
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I do, however, remember diving into fluffy mountains of leaves as a child. I would do it as an adult except for thoughts of a prongs-up rake hidden at the bottom. As I’m running in the morning, I like to dodge the scattered leaves on the street, pretending that I’m avoiding tacklers on my way to a long touchdown. I tend to run around any piles for fear that they’re covering a ankle-breaking pothole or a rock to trip over. I do enjoy the cold morning air that fills my lungs, reminiscent of skiing downhill. I also have fond memories of frolicking in the leaves with my wife, and discovering “leaf behinds” in our under garments. What currently gives me great satisfaction is passing a lawn that I know I won’t be raking. Falling leaves are now someone else’s problem “in the autumn of my life.”