Photograph by Maria Acosta
By Ava Rinella, Staff Writer
As I exit Tower Road and cross the Hoskin Avenue intersection, I return to Trinity with the greeting of a sight I’ve yet to see: autumn in the eyes of a university student. I continue onward and notice a leaf floating to the ground. It twists and turns, dancing with the breeze that combs through the branches of its home—the maple tree. Just weeks before, during first-year orientation, this tree looked completely different. It was dense with youthful, green leaves and provided much-needed shade from the heat of the summer. The transition from emerald to fiery foliage, and the changing of the season from summer to autumn, signifies that we are about to embark on our own change as well.
There’s a special parallel I’ve begun to notice throughout this season, between the transfiguration of our lives and the environment’s alteration itself. Leaves occupy the corners of busy staircases and connecting pathways of our campus, while assignments take up the crevices of our minds and remain scattered on our desks, waiting to be swept up. Although daunted by these changes to our lives and once-steadfast schedules, I’ve come to realize how they hold a sense of beauty. As the winds begin to shift from heat waves to crisp breezes, opportunities are presented to each and every one of us—whether it is making new friendships, experiencing what living on our own is like, or getting a glimpse into adulthood. We have been preparing to leave our old ways behind and embark on new endeavors, much like the frantic squirrels who accompany us on our treks to class, as they too are in search of new homes before the bitter cold of winter. The creatures of autumn succeed in finding their new home or, in a concept that is even more elusive, place. A place that is our own. A place that helps define who we are and who we are to become.
Along with new faces, spaces, and dropping temperatures arrives a need for warmth. Where does one find warmth? Is it necessarily a change in atmosphere, or is it a certain feeling evoked within us, like the kind encountered through nostalgic elements of our childhood? Familiarity. Belonging. This sense of warmth is bound to our sense of place. I’ve been one to cling firmly to that which provides me with this sensation. I look back on memories made with my friends from home that have slowly dimmed as new memories shuffle forward. We observe how we no longer spend as much time with the suns in our lives, like families or friends, just as the vibrancy of daylight transitions to the boldness of autumnal nights. Reminiscing has provided me with the sensation of place from afar, but not necessarily in the now. How can we find place in this new environment? It is finally time to welcome the uncertainty of the darkness and use our limited sunlight to our advantage? This seems to be the biggest commonality among all students, no matter in their first or fourth year. U of T may not be home sweet home forever, but it is our new ignition of place for the time being, from playing spike ball with peers in the quad, to sharing a dorm with a roommate-turned-friend, to making our way to campus with fellow TTC commuters.
As I revisit the maple tree outside of Trinity, I fall deeper into autumn and the semester. Its many leaves have gone off with the wind, only to find themselves inadvertently fitting with other leaves on the grounds of our college like puzzle pieces forming a picture—an image of belonging. Just as they have embraced the beauty of autumn’s awakening, we too will embrace new opportunities. They show us that with patience, we will find our place.
