When Suzie and I last visited Vermont, it was still summer – and the 80-degree day backed that up. Still, there were signs of fall on the move, as seen in these photos, capturing one of the first trees to start their transformation. Andy says this looks to be a banner year for fall foliage thanks to a hot, and lately dry, summer. I don’t know how all that chlorophyll magic works, I only know that I appreciate its prettiness.
A SONG FOR AUTUMN
By Mary Oliver
In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come – six, a dozen – to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.
Whenever I doubt whether something greater is at work, I think of this kind of beauty, and gain an appreciation for simply being a small part of it.
