“Fall”

“Autumn”

These words conjure a feast for my senses:

The crisp cold of the air

The crunch of dried leaves

The smoky smell of the first fire of the season

The tang of a newly ripe apple

And the colours – oh, my…the colours

A sky so intensely, brightly blue it hurts to look at it

The pure blinding white of the clouds

The golden, syrupy blanket of sunlight that covers everything – a light that only appears at this time of year

And, of course, the leaves

Startling yellow, zesty orange and vivid scarlet – one second they are themselves, separate. The next they blend to create a coat of many colours to hold the last bit of warmth to the earth.

I love these colours.

I miss these colours – they don’t happen here in the same way. It’s the only thing, other than my family, that I miss about the place of my birth. I need those colours – so much so I had them tattooed on my body to always keep them with me.

But look closely.

Not all leaves take on the colour. Many simply give up – they die, turn brown while still on the tree, just waiting for the gust of wind that sends them to the ground to be trampled underfoot.

All leaves will eventually fall – but some “do not go gentle into that good night.”

They can feel the end coming, they know the time remaining is fleeting. But they choose to celebrate.

They celebrate that they’ve reached this far. They celebrate that they were here at all.

They tire of being the same green as every other leaf and show their true colours.

And so it is with people. Some get to that age that, to them, means they’re ‘old’. And so they become old. They go into a holding pattern, seemingly just waiting for the end.

But others choose to “rage against the dying of the light”. They become more themselves than they ever were before. They study what interests them instead of what will ‘make a good living’. They do what they want rather than what they should. They may even choose to look at their grey hair and see it as a clean base for pink or purple, instead of as the first sign of impending doom.

This, I have come to realise, is the real meaning behind my autumn leaves tattoo – it’s not just the pretty colours. It is a visible, indelible sign of my determination to live this part of my life to its fullest, to show and throw my colours to the wind and say “fuck’em if they can’t take a joke”.

(Many thanks to Jesse at Studio 78 in Crewe for his amazing work.)