Hoosier Autumn
October! Morning nips and noontime burns;
Crisped, sere, dun cornstalks fall beneath the scythe;
Chrysanthemums blaze as the woodland turns
To living flame, a golden land of myth:
Bright yellow birch and beech and tulip-tree,
Red sugar-maple, rainbow sassafras,
And flame-orange pumpkins fattened lusciously
Like Hesperides’ fruit, strewn on parched grass.
No other season’s bounty can compare
With your delicious richness where scents teem:
Faint, pungent smoke commingles in the air
With loamy, mossy clouds of earth-born steam
And mellow over-ripeness. You entice
With tastes—wild mushrooms, apples’ sweet bouquet,
Rich pumpkin and persimmon tinged with spice,
Sharp sassafras, and earthy roots’ array.
Your lengthened shades; your light’s diminishing;
Your rush of dead leaves’ rustling, soft cascades;
Your fog-swathed morn, south-fleeing geese on wing,
And deep, chill nights of golden moon-tinged shades
Shroud the once-blooming world in mystery.
Its woods and fields now made a living tomb,
Draped in the dusk of death’s dread majesty,
Where wandering ghosts and haunting demons loom.
At their thought children scream in half-delight,
Rapt in the thrill of terror’s first mild taste,
While those more seasoned pray eternal light
For all souls gone where nature now makes haste.
Yet thrill of young and somberness of old
But fringe the brilliance of this season, rife
With all delicious, while the world gleams gold—
The sweet last gasp of color, warmth, and life.
Would that your season lengthened past its time,
This beauteous dying not yield finally
To that inevitable death whose clime
Is ice and snow, unhued austerity.
But the dying must die, and this world so filled
With one last surge of life too soon must fade.
Yet winter’s razing leaves new spring to build
And grow until your gold shines forth, remade.
Adam Sedia (b. 1984) lives in his native Northwest Indiana and practices law as a civil and appellate litigator. He has published four books of poetry and his poems, essays, and fiction have appeared in various literary journals. He is also a composer, and his musical works may be heard on his YouTube channel.
“Superabundant” is the defining word for your “Hoosier Autumn,” Adam. Although you address “October” in the first line, the seasonally rich description moves toward November as Halloween passes to All Souls (without celebrating either) in the fourth stanza. By then you’ve already brought on the seasoned themes of death and cyclical renewal so masterfully compressed into the poem’s last two lines. Timely perfection!
Thank you, Margaret. You chose exactly the word that captures the sense I wanted to convey — the “superabundance” of this time of year, with all its deliciousness for all the senses.
Would that your season lengthened past its time,
This beauteous dying not yield finally
To that inevitable death whose clime
Is ice and snow, unhued austerity.
But the dying must die, and this world so filled
With one last surge of life too soon must fade.
Yet winter’s razing leaves new spring to build
And grow until your gold shines forth, remade.
That’s my favorite stanza in this sensual tour de force of my second favorite season. Well, done, Adam.
Thank you! That’s the stanza I wanted to “wrap up” the entire piece, to give it its “spinal cord” of thought.
Absolutely beautiful! My eyes are watering, reading this lush description of my favorite, though sadly-poignant, season. Thank you, Adam.
Thank you! I am flattered to know that I could achieve such a powerful effect.
There’s no denying it — there’s something about the season of Autumn that speaks to us in ways that the other seasons never manage to do. I’ll borrow Cynthia’s word “poignant,” and say that Autumn epitomizes “dignified poignancy,” combined with wisdom and mortality. This a very beautiful poem that does full justice to its subject.
Thank you, Dr. Salemi. This has been a subject I’ve wanted to tackle for a few years. This year I finally sat down to work on it, and the poem came together in a few days with remarkable facility.
Adam, I am astounded at how consistently ethereal and beautiful your poems are. Hoosier Autumn is no exception. It offers a survey of Fall beauty and melancholy which tugs at the heart. Your love of this season is palpable. Living as I do in a place where such Fall scenes do not exist, you make me achingly nostalgic for my years in Michigan and Oregon.
Thank you, Brian. I always value your comments. As much as I love the tropics, I would have a hard time leaving these Indiana autumns, which are really a special time — as I’ve tried to convey.
Adam, this piece strikes me as dignified, sensitive, evocative, wistful and beautifully constructed. There is nothing superfluous in it, and nothing is laboured as you move from one thought to the next. Everything seems so natural and effortless (which probably means it took a lot of serious thought). Absolutely spot on.
Thank you! You have given me one of the best compliments possible. Yet I was surprised at how easily this poem came together. Perhaps that’s the sign of true genuineness of expression.
Very beautiful, very well-made poem, well done.
Thank you!
It would appear that autumn comes to Indiana much as it comes to New England. The street scene illustrated at the top reminds me of the Pennsylvania street on which my maternal grandparents lived, which I frequented often in my youth. It would appear, Adam, that you and I don’t live all that far apart. Autumn, in many respects, is a prequel to Christmas.
I’ve only been to New England in summer, but I understand most of it is in the same growing zone as Indiana. Southern Indiana probably resembles New England more closely, with its landscape of forested limestone hills — one of the most beautiful places in the country, in my opinion. The northern part of the state was originally settled by New Englanders seeking better farmland, so there is indeed more than a superficial connection.
Having my kids’ birthdays in September and December means that the entire stretch from mid-September to the New Year is one giant string of celebrations. It’s a pleasant distraction from the diminishing daylight and increasing cold.
Adam, your beautiful poem takes me straight back to my homeland for that fresh, lush, vibrant blaze of seasonal glory that ignites the soul and touches the heart with its song. Thank you!
Thank you! I never dreamed I would invoke an English autumn, but perhaps that is one reason why the original settlers felt so at home here, even if (as I understand) our winters here are harsher.
Adam – Having been to Indiana many times, often in Autumn, I know how apt your lovely poem is. It makes the reader feel as if he or she is there. Great job!
Thank you! My specific vision of the Indiana autumn was not so much where I live but in the south-central part of the state with its forested hills. The fall – and fall festivals – there are inspiring.
Adam, this is a perfect poem. Autumn has never been put into poetry more beautifully.
Wow! I’m floored by your compliment. I was afraid my subject lent itself too much to comparison, especially with Keats’s famous ode, but reading your comment allows me to rest confident that my work can stand on its own. Thank you!
Adam, I was a Hoosier for six years in northern Indiana (Kosciusko Co.) and loved my time there and especially the people!
As a longtime hater of “Winter” (i.e., October through March!) I resolved a few years ago to stop saying, “I hate Winter.” I just endured it. But I began to endure it with an obligatory respect for it’s authority over me. Your poem, I must say, wonderfully expresses the beauty of Autumn that I do not normally appreciate but certainly recognize. For example, the brilliant colors you beautifully catalog are not as brilliant to me as green, all green! But they are brilliant. But you capture the Autumn as I see it in these lines:
Its woods and fields now made a living tomb,
Draped in the dusk of death’s dread majesty,
Where wandering ghosts and haunting demons loom.
That entire stanza challenges me to appreciate the mystery and majesty of the waning of life, and the final stanza challenges me to sharpen my distinction between Autumn (with life’s final vestiges) and Winter. Thanks again for the beautiful and thought provoking “Hoosier Winter”!
Thank you! I have been to Warsaw a few times, and passed through it even more. The lakes out there are a nice escape in summer. I, too, love the warmth and greenery of summer, but love autumn’s enchantment. If summer has to end, how glorious an ending it has! I’ve always found something special — delicious and warm — about the autumn season, especially in southern Indiana, and finally put pen to paper on the subject. I’m glad it could provoke thought; that is what I strive to achieve in all my poetry.
Thank you so much for this beautiful poem about my favorite season!