VN April 2021

Vetnuus | April 2021 4 Autumn. The season of the year between summer and winter, during which the weather becomes cooler and many plants become dormant, extending in the Southern Hemisphere from the autumn equinox in March to the winter solstice in June. In early years the season was known as “harvest”, to reflect the time of year when farmers would gather their corps and prepare them for winter storage. When people began leaving farms for the city, new terms emerged – “autumn” and “fall”. "Autumn" came from the Latin word "autumnus," with the root of the word having connotations regarding "the passing of the year." The term "fall" was likely a deviation from the Old English words "fiaell" and "feallan," both of which mean "to fall from a height” – likely to be inspired by trees' falling leaves. Should we thus refer to the season as “fall”, as “the passing of the year” does not apply to the Southern Hemisphere? A season for cleansing. Like all seasons, a season of beauty. Stanley Horowitz wrote: “Winter is an etching, spring a watercolour, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all." A season when we can enjoy the last burst of colour in nature all around us, when leaves become flowers, when the deciduous trees allow their leaves to fly away and dance in the wind. To me, one of our Afrikaans poets, n.p. van wyk louw, captured it best: Early Autumn (Translated by Guy Butler, from Afrikaans poems with English translations, edited by A.P. Grové and C.J.D. Harvey, Cape Town, Oxford University Press, 1962) The year matures in golden oak-leaves, in the dun of darkening vineyards, and, paler at all hours air washed by fresh winds and the pellucid sun. Fruits fulfil the individual flowers. even the slowest, and the first leaves fall so silently in smoke-dimmed wood and lane that the slender branches of the poplars tall lift wither silhouettes each radiant dawn. Dear Lord, may all these days be sanctified: let all things fall that were showy and vain or merely young and far removed from tears; make riper, Lord, let your wind blow; my pride strip off, till all that's great at last shows plain naked and firm above my greener years. Till next time. v Regards, From the Editor Reflections from a DamWall Paul van Dam