Fall always amazes me. It is the season of approaching death when leaves turn dry and brittle and drop to the ground, and yet there is such majesty in fall. The air takes on a musical quality that makes you want to sing. Unlike spring’s soprano quality, fall has a contralto voice—warm, resilient tones that send hope seeping into the very marrow of the bones. Fall knows that the death of winter is approaching, but fall also knows that the resurrection of spring will certainly follow.
I learn so many things as I contemplate the seasons. But most of all I love their music. If you stop to listen carefully, you will hear it. Music is powerful in what it can do to our hearts. In our home when the children were growing up we had a rule that you could fight and argue all you wanted, but you had to sing it. In the mornings I’d suddenly hear one of the girls break out in off-key-opera best, “You wore my shirt and you didn’t wash it. I wanted to wear it today!” But about half-way through this musical outburst she’d be laughing so hard she couldn’t stay mad. And the rest of us would laugh along.
I find it works for me also. When I’m upset, worried, or frightened about something I start singing my thoughts instead of ranting, raving, or complaining and it is absolutely impossible to stay upset. In this case, music really is medicine for the soul, and it has the same affect as the music of the season fall. It instills hope deep into the soul.