I don't feel like that now, 40 years on. Autumn has its charms but Spring - that's the season that lifts the heart. Thrusting shoots, fresh leaves, baby birds, lengthening days, renewed hope. Autumn - well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that it brings thoughts of death but it does remind me how fast time is passing. Whoosh.
I probably feel this particularly because my working year runs from August to June. So autumn also brings grindingly hard work and a weary haul till the next long holiday.
At this time of year we Scots tend to say with pained surprise, "The nights are drawing in" - as if we'd never noticed this happening in previous years. At the moment it's still light at breakfast time but darkish by 7 at night. By December the sun doesn't rise properly much before 9 and then starts setting about 3.30 pm. Those of us who work and don't stop for lunch live in the winter like moles, and emerge blinking into the daylight at weekends.
Will I feel differently when I retire? Will I once more enjoy the sharp air in my lungs on a sunny day; the cosiness of sitting with a book in a warm room as the workers fight the rain and the traffic to get home; the sooch of the wind against the windows behind the closed curtains and the realisation that I don't have to go out in it? Will autumn seem exciting again?
367 working days to go. Approximately. Or that's the plan. Meanwhile, back to the pile of marking on the kitchen table.