Autumn Reflections in Paris

My very first time to arrive in Paris was  the beginning of autumn many years ago, when I was a young and naive student.

Though it was only September the 5th, I well remember the day.

As soon as I stepped off the Air France plane, I was ill-prepared for the shock of the very cool rain that blew in my face.

Soon I was shivering wondering how could this be?

My body still felt tethered to the smouldering  Louisiana September days I had just left behind!

 

Little did I know that I would eventually make friends with the dismal Autumn drizzle many years later, however reluctantly.

Each season I guess leaves its imprint on our psyches.  Autumn does have its charms, despite the chance of gloomy grey skies taking over the last remnants of the summer sun.

Whatever hot days comprise the summer months here, at times they seem never enough and I find that I want to desperately cling to them, so there is always a little resentment when September arrives.

Indian summer days do happen occasionally here till mid-October, and lately seems to have increased. Soon afterwards the cold winds of Scandinavia head south setting off clusters of drizzly cold days that eventually give way to winter’s bitter to the bone chill.

It is a great time to see the changes in seasons in the many beautiful parks of Paris.   I generally go to Parc Montsouris and Parc Luxembourg because they are close to me.

Up in the northern part of Paris, in the 19 th arrondissement is Parc Buttes Chaumont.  It offers some really hilly terrain, some with wide-open vistas of Paris beyond.

Doggies are allowed here, like in Montsouris and of course, I really like seeing them happily prancing along with their families.

The humid coolness might not be to my liking, but mushrooms adore it and proliferate everywhere in the surrounding forests.

A recent foraging for them offered a brisk long walk amongst towering old trees turning all shades of orange and bronze, dappled with yellow here and there.

Mushrooms are timid little things preferring to hide under nests of dead leaves pile on top.   I sometimes feel like doing the same when my Autumnal slump eventually catches up with me.

You have to have a sharp eye out for any peeping out and a long stick to gently rake-off their leafy habitats.

The bright yellow ones are easier to spot than the grey chanterelles.  Since I am a once in while amateur gatherer, I have to get any picked verified before eating them!

You know its autumn when the smell of roasting chestnuts starts waffling around street corners.  Guys bent over charcoal grills, not in period dress as seen,  constantly turn them so as they don’t get totally chared.

Savouring roasted chestnuts is as much of a tactile delight as eating them. Nothing like grabbing a paper cone filled with burning hot chestnuts, fresh off the grill to warm frigid cold hands.

Chestnuts are scattered everywhere in the parks, and especially along the Champs. The spiky shells crunch under your feet and make walking in dirt feel like walking on large brown marbles.

Out in the forest, it takes practice to recognise the smaller “marrons” rather than the larger plain chestnuts that aren’t very good to eat.  I am still not good at this yet; as they can look so similar!

What Paris lacks in weather, she makes up with a multitude of festivals and salons, that I have written about recently and in the past.

September is Jours de Patrimone when some rarely opened historical gardens and buildings are open to visit.  Then Fête des Jardins to catch the last bounty of summer blooms.

October is Nuit Blanche and Nuits aux Chateaux and Fête de Vendage in Montmartre.  End of October brings the widely popular Chocolate Salon.

November starts off with Toussaint(All Saints) offering a kaleidoscope of bright-hued chrysanthemums for sale everywhere, that are meant to brighten up the  Parisian cemeteries, which are the most beautiful to see at this time of the year.

Even in the rain, there are moments to savour.   Huddled under my dripping wet umbrella.  I have learned to transform a walk in the rain into a meditative trance.

Bundled up to the hilt and tightly clinging to my umbrella that threatens to inverse itself any minute in the gusts of the biting wind, I ply forth deliberating trying to avoid the accumulating puddles.

My mind seems to slow as I gaze upon the pavement strewn with the fallen brown gold tinged leaves, who have found their final resting place on the wet pavement.

The leaves somehow have unknowingly formed a  colourful mosaic, constantly offering various colourful canvases,  created by Mother Nature as I mindfully walk along.

When the days shorten and become glazed in fog, as seen from my balcony,  I am drawn to linger on one of the bridges of the Seine that leads to Ile de la Cité, like the Pont St. Michel or Pont au Double.

As the steely greyness gives way to the darkening dusk, I love to catch the moment when the lamp lights start to glow, inviting me to make wishes like a kid.

I am always in awe of Notre Dame as the night lights highlight her creamy soft beige walls with golden hues that illuminates the darkening sky.

I never fail to feel the encompassing solemn energy upon entering through the massive wooden doors.

As I write this updated post, there is much nostalgia for my following recounting of dusky evenings past, but hopefully, those wooden doors will open again in a few years.

By 6pm, the smell of incense begins to fill her hallowed arches, as the priests prepare for evening vespers that precedes the evening mass. If I am early enough, I can find a seat as close to the front on the left as possible.

The choir files in, resplendent in their bright azure blue robes, and their cherubic voices start to sing sweetly in my ears.

Suddenly and without warning,  the thunderous and mighty organ begins in a triumphal lurch that vibrates throughout the walls of the cathedral.  We all rise as the procession of priests following the golden cross take their place around the altar.

It is snug and warm inside, and the energy is sweet, providing a comforting respite for all burdened by worries of the day.  After communion, the mass comes to the end as the priest bids all goodbye with his blessings.

I linger again, this time lighting a candle to Notre Dame de Paris, hoping to remain as long as I can. The lights around the main altar are dimmed and the guards are busy ushering the crowds out and motion to me to do the same.

I walk purposely slow, knowing I have only a few more minutes to savour the silence that fills the darkening church.  This silence that is so precious and so rare at Notre Dame, holds me back, wishing I could stay and bask behind her locked doors.

Since the closing of Notre Dame, Saint Sulpice is filling in as best they can.  In the early Autumn sky, it too takes on a rather creamy glow.

As autumn’s setting sun comes earlier and earlier, dusk is my favourite time to walk about, witnessing the waning day’s transition into night.

The inner courtyard of Le Petit Palais is marvellous in the Autumn light, reflecting the last rays of the sun and fall colours.

After all, autumn is all about transmuting, letting go, and transitioning.

I find myself becoming more reflective, more tucked in, and more nostalgic in nature.

After the autumn harvests, we start to prepare for the dormancy that predominates in the winter.

Squirrels gather nuts and I sense too a need to set aside more time to contemplate that which the year has brought me.

We can never be separated from the energy of nature and now is the time when the leaves that were once a vibrant green full of promise in the spring have turned magically into brilliant oranges,  yellowed ochre browns and burnt reds.

The dangling parched leaves hanging on by a thread might cling as I am want to do with things in my life that I need to let go.

Letting go for me is never easy.  Making way for the birthing of new light that promises to fill the starlit sky of winter is always a challenge.

Seeking joy in all seasons,  autumn invites me to light more candles in the early evening, as a prelude to dinner,  my daily feast.  Afterwards, I might feel compelled to perform a cleansing ritual that the season provokes.

Incense bought here and there from various monasteries come out and fill the small incensor that I swing around, filling my own sacred space with the sweetest of church like smells.

As the fragrant mist rises and swirls in front of my eyes, I feel an intoxication of my senses and a cleansing and releasing from that which holds me back.

The darkness of night has gently settled around and a profound sleepiness overtakes me.  I count my many blessings despite the ever-present shadows of grief that are always there. Life is life.

Renewal awaits.

All is well.   Give glory to God.

P.S.  This is an updated and expanded post, October 22, 2019