Overnight, the trees above my porch went from drab to wonderfully, vibrantly, gorgeously autumn-yellow. I was in such a rush to get to the gym this morning that I didn’t notice them until I returned. When I did, I looked up and gasped, as the change was so sudden, dramatic, and beautiful:
I love autumn: the beautiful colors, the chilly (but not too cold) weather, the apple cider, the coziness, wearing sweaters and boots and scarves again, etc. Unfortunately, in this area, our autumns are often all too brief and fleeting. Oh well. I’ll delight in it while it lasts. Like all seasons, autumn is ephemeral, fleeting, and temporary. There’s something different and unique about autumn’s evanescence, though. It’s more poignant than the others. It’s lovelier, more intense.
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.