A Letter: Dear Autumn

What begins as a simple letter to a season unfolds into a profound meditation on life, death, resilience, and renewal in John Shuttleworth's masterfully crafted "Dear Autumn." Narrated by the author himself, this piece transcends mere seasonal observation to capture the bittersweet essence of autumn as it stands on the precipice of winter's approach.

Shuttleworth's sensory-rich prose transports listeners between two worlds—the autumn beaches of Australia with their salt air and tide-washed shores, and the spectacular sugar maples of New York exploding in their "final glorious show" before surrendering to winter's grasp. Through vivid imagery and intimate reflections, he examines how seasonal transitions mirror life's own cycles of beauty and decline, joy and melancholy.

The narrative takes an unexpected turn as Shuttleworth weaves his autumn contemplations with poignant reflections on post-9/11 America, drawing subtle parallels between nature's inevitable rhythms and humanity's struggle to process collective trauma. His musings on forgiveness, compassion, and resilience emerge organically from observations of falling leaves and approaching snow, creating a tapestry of thought that's both deeply personal and universally resonant.

Most remarkable is the letter's evolution from reluctance to acceptance. As Shuttleworth bids farewell to autumn and steels himself for winter's arrival, listeners witness a transformation that speaks to the human capacity for adaptation and courage in the face of inevitable change. "Goodbye autumn, see you next year. I'm ready now, winter. Bring on the snow."

Listen to this moving narration and discover how a simple letter to a season can become a powerful meditation on what it means to embrace life's transitions with grace and determined optimism. Share your own reflections on seasonal changes and how they've shaped your perspective on life's inevitable transitions.

 This piece is available in Edition I of Voice Within: A Storybook by Storytellers.

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Chapters

• 0:01 Introduction and Gratitude
• 0:36 John Shuttleworth's Reading Introduction
• 2:11 Dear Autumn Letter Begins
• 4:00 Australian Autumn Memories
• 5:40 New York's Fall Colors
• 7:20 Reflections on War and Terrorism
• 9:24 Winter's Approach and Closing Thoughts

Transcript

Speaker 1: 0:01

Ah, if you're here, this is wonderful news because it means you're here to support the authors, the storytellers and the writers that have entrusted us to share their tales through this platform. Thank you, thank you for your support, thank you for supporting this art form, and I look forward to sharing many more tales with you. So, cup of tea in hand and a couple of biggies too, enjoy the love of a good story. Hello, and welcome back to another narration here by an author, john Shuttleworth.

Speaker 1: 1:14

He'll be narrating today a letter that he with fall known in America, but also autumn and it's time that this is actually published is also autumn here in Australia, so I thought it would be really good timing. And also I we've got a few stories coming up from John narrated by himself, and it's such a pleasure to have his written works in the publications because his ability to observe on a sensory level what he's experiencing in a written form is a real pleasure to read, and I really enjoy his work, so I hope you do too. So here we have, by John Shuttleworth, dear Autumn, enjoy.

Speaker 2: 2:11

Dear Autumn, a letter written by John Shuttleworth. What was it Keats said about you? Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. A very positive and encouraging phrase. Much better than it's getting cold here in New York and another tough winter is just around the corner that pessimistic comment that is usually heard. Well, I'm trying to be the former and ignore the latter, but it's hard. This year you are truly the best of all seasons, somehow mature and strong, but soft, pliable and resplendent in your palette of a thousand colours. But I know that your beautiful autumn leaves will fall and then will come your least favourite season, your hard older brother, winter. I never liked him. He's so frigid and rigid, uncompromising and unforgiving, cold and dead. He will bury me in a blanket of snow that looks pretty on the Christmas cards but forces me to wear uncomfortable clothes and chills me to the bone. Oh, autumn, I love you even more in Australia. I miss being with you on the beach with all the smells of the sea, even that pungent smell of the dead fish as it lies there on the sand waiting for the next high tide to take it back from whence it came, whole except for those empty socket eyes. What eats the eyes out of dead fish, I wonder? Maybe insects, birds or crabs?

Speaker 2: 4:06

I remember the last year we spent together in Australia. Do you remember? There was a bad storm that killed thousands of migrating mullet birds? They washed ashore one day in their hundreds. Sad, pathetic bodies, all lined up by the last wave of the high tide. Pleased to the local council authorities resulted in we have no budget for dead bird removal and anyway, this is a natural occurrence and eventually the ocean will clean itself. They were right, of course, but it took so long for those little white corpses to change into skeletons and eventually become part of the beach. It was just after the horror of 9-11, and somehow all that death on the beach seemed to only remind me of all the death in New York, new York. Although natural, all that death was offensive and I got the urge to take my garden spade and at least bury them, but there was too many, so for a while I avoided the beach, the same way we avoid the homeless and oppressed, averting our eyes lest we be offended or, worse still, feel guilt for our inaction and lack of compassion.

Speaker 2: 5:26

Here in New York, where your real name, autumn, is seldom used, now firmly replaced by your nickname Fall, I still steal myself and convince myself of my good fortune. Your trees are beautiful this year. The thousands of sugar maples, each a different colour, are just breathtaking. A friend said the trick is to find the right weekend to drive into the country and see them at their best, their zenith, their final glorious show before your brother. Winter turns the temperature down and the leaves fall off. If there is a right weekend, there must be a right day and a right hour and therefore a right second where I can see I have no words for it. You have to be there to see them.

Speaker 2: 6:23

When it got colder, my wife and I had a couple of days raking your spent now brown leaves. This annual chore becomes just that a chore without the assistance of children. Maybe we should rent a brace of rugrats to roll in the leaf piles and chase each other around the tree trunks. Then we could play leaf war where the rules are. You have to pretend to not see these little terrorists creeping up behind you with their arms full of crispy golden ammunition. Then you have to admonish them for showering you with the dead leaves and getting them spread all over the garden again. They somehow sense that this is not being naughty, but being naughty in a nice way, and there is no punishment for that. God, I wish you could make real war as much fun as leaf war.

Speaker 2: 7:20

The war on terrorism is going well. After 9-11, I catch myself feeling pleasure hearing such statements from this self-satisfied smirking smoothie on the television. The Taliban have sworn to fight to the last and die for their cause. Their misguided fanaticism is so futile, having decided to go up against the most devastating, powerful and determined nation in the world. Yet I'm sure that, like all combatants in previous wars, they are convinced they are fighting with God on their side. God doesn't take sides in war. He watches from his all-knowing place in the universe and weeps saying I give them free will, freedom of thought and deed, and they use these gifts as they will.

Speaker 2: 8:17

The concept of Tao, the balance of good and evil, seems to fit the situation so well. Extreme evil must exist so that extreme goodness can overcome its ravages must exist so that extreme goodness can overcome its ravages. I try not to hate the terrorists for what they did, but it's hard to be a pacifist faced with the constant reminder of the despicable plan they hatched. Much easier to buy a 699 flag for the car window and join the rest of the rednecks in the battle cry of kill all the bastards and let God sort them out. How did Jesus find the strength on the cross to forgive his tormentors? How did the great religious leaders love all people? If only we mere mortals could grasp the concept of complete forgiveness. Turn the other tower. We did that and they raised it to the ground.

Speaker 2: 9:22

Winter will bring Christmas soon. The look on the children's faces will heal all wounds and bring us back to happiness again. This year I'll watch the bespectacled little boy, ralphie, as he unwraps his Christmas present a red Ryder BB gun with the compass in the stock in that old film set in the 1940s A Christmas Story. I will take a recharge from that and films like it that we need to watch each year. This tradition and all the other Christmas traditions recharge the soul and renew our faith in humanity. They truly are chicken soup for the soul. Soon the snow will fly and out will come the ski jacket and I'll begrudgingly buy an ice scraper to keep the car clean.

Speaker 2: 10:15

Still, the snow does have a levelling effect on people. No longer the indecision of what to wear. Dress warm, no more raking leaves. Stay indoors. No more guilt for not cutting the grass or having a perfect lawn. Everywhere is coated in snow and looks wintry, pretty, not the dirty slush of my childhood memories from England, but real snow, deep and crisp. And even I especially love how deep snow rounds off the edges, no longer the severe sharp corners and blinding light of hot summer days, more a slower, steady, unhurried lifestyle.

Speaker 2: 10:58

Because when you hurry, winter will see you come undone. He will make you slip or slide or swerve or skid. These are not good things. Better to be careful and not fall. There's that word fall again, this time in its true meaning, a verb to fall, to lose one footing and end up on your ass, not like your winter season of myths and mellow fruitfulness. Come on then. Ugly cold winter. You don't scare me. I'm ready now. Give it your best shot. I'm ready now. Goodbye autumn, see you next year. I'm ready. Now winter, bring on the snow, thank you.